


Beware the Dragons (And Everything Else)

by Darkwalk



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: But only in one chapter so far, Mild Gore, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Mythical Beings & Creatures, briefly implied character death, different species trying to live together, mythverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 63,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkwalk/pseuds/Darkwalk
Summary: It's not as simple as 'mech turns into vehicle.'





	1. Puppy Tails

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Mythformers AU where the Cybertronians are all from myths and legends. Big thanks to my sister Wildsky for help with figuring out species and ideas!  
> Tags will be added as chapters are put up.
> 
> These are mainly one-shots set in G1, starting right after the bots wake up from stasis.

Primus save him from canids with broken tails. 

Ratchet rumbled moodily and made sure to keep his optics set on the bodies around him instead of the sad looking Wildling by the door. He had more important things to do! All these bots in stasis for example, needed to be checked on. 

There were many who hadn't survived the crash into Earth. And those who had were injured badly. The medic had an enormous work load ahead of him with Windcharger short an arm, many mechs dented and full of shrapnel, Bumblebee's legs were useless...... Who knew what kind of injuries Optimus was hiding right then. Idiot martyr wouldn't come to the medbay until everyone else was attended to. He made a mental note to check on their Prime soon to make sure he wasn't bleeding out or anything stupid like that. It would be ridiculous to survive everything else and then die of exsanguination. 

Of course, if he did die, it wouldn't surprise Ratchet that it'd be something stupid like that. Idiot ran head first into battle. He'd need to have a talk with Ironhide about encouraging that kind of behavior. Having the Matrix of Leadership doesn't make one invincible.....

He was pulled out of his mental task list by a near inaudible whine. Taking a deep vent, the shaman slowly turned to look at the door. 

Big mistake. The canid's optics were pathetically sorrowful, deep blue reflecting the world's cruelty. How could the universe be so mean as to give him a broken tail? It was the worst sort of pain, a horror of wounds, his optics and wilted form seemed to say. It didn't help that the patchy lighting highlighted the various scratches and dents in the gunmetal gray armor.

“Augh! Fine! Get your aft over here Bluestreak! And quite giving me that look. If Sideswipe can't pull it off on me, neither can you.” Ratchet growled, knowing he'd been had. Even though Blue was an adult, he still looked and behaved like a pup. 

Metal plates in the form of triangular audio receptors flicked up and the Wildling quickly scrambled over on four legs. The floor in what might have been a storage room was a mess with stalagmites breaking up through the ground, shattered machinery and broken armor from those who hadn't been lucky in the crash laying about. His claws gave off quiet ticking noises as they scratched against rubble. “Thank you Ratchet! Broken tails hurt and it's really bothering me. I can't focus on anything else right now and it's soooo distracting-”

“Zip it and hold still.” With a sigh, the medic knelt down to grab the mech by the scruff and drag him closer. 

Standing next to the crouched mech, Bluestreak's shoulders rose above Ratchet's even though the Wildling was on all fours. Inspecting the bushy plated tail, Ratchet sighed. It was just a snapped structure junction, making the appendage look like it was broken in two. Canids were so uppity about their tails. Oh, someone stepped on it! Oh, it got caught in a closing door! None of the other Wildlings caused so much trouble when it came to limb injuries. Well..... except the many avian species and their wings. Then they were just as bad. 

With a quick weld and a tweak on the pain sensors, he had the wound repaired and wrapped the area with metal mesh to keep the overlapped plating from pulling it loose. “Let that be and don't scratch it.”

“Thanks Ratchet! I feel better and you are the best medic-” the rest of Bluestreak's gratitude was tuned out. 

Giving a grunt in reply instead of an actual 'your welcome', the shaman returned to going through the mess. He pulled out a rather thin mech, no idea on the color with all the rock dust on him, and found a stable spark pulse. Good. Another one to go to the medbay for later. Until they figured out if they had any energon reserves left, anyone in stasis would have to stay in stasis for the time being.

Deciding to be helpful now that his tail wasn't driving him crazy, Bluestreak transformed into his bipedal mode and started to push away the junk. Rolling his optics, Ratchet ignored the chatter that started up. It was never going to be quiet now. Focusing instead on his task, the white and red mech pulled the next body out of the way. Obviously dead, if the giant hole in the chest and busted helm was anything to go by. Hopefully it had been an elemental's shell and the elemental was nearby but Ratchet doubted it. He was never that lucky.

A frown as he examined another one, a large frame partially under collapsed shelving. The medic removed some of the rubble and checked for a spark pulse. At first, nothing. Then a faint energy wave that disappeared almost as soon as it appeared. The mech was still in stasis, but had sustained light damages that had been slowly weakening his spark for millenia. It was a miracle the mech was still online. 

“Slag!” He spat in panic. “Bluestreak, clear the hall to the medbay and make sure Hoist is still in there!”

Jumping up, the younger bot lunged into beast mode as he was faster that way and took off for the medbay on swift paws. It was problematic that the comms were still down. Ratchet would have to rely on the gunner to tell the others while he carried the mech. Checking to make sure moving the mech wouldn't kill him, the medic heaved the frame up with a snarl. Medics had to be strong to do their job but that didn't mean they could easily lift every frame type. 

Chanting old dark things under his breath to keep death and the spirits at bay, the shaman trundled towards the medbay as quickly as he could.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wildlings: A Cybertronian species who shift into a beast-like shape, purely metal to metal with no glamours and usually without special abilities


	2. Playing With Fire and Making Friends

It was a shame the ship was in such a broken state. Inferno agreed with his crewmates that the disorganization was a bit trying and their base wasn't exactly a conventional one, but he was thrilled with one new discovery. 

There were lava pools deep within the mountain. 

Some of the Ark's halls merged with natural caves and empty tunnels. Trying to figure out how much of their ship was still intact, some of the others had stumbled upon them and mentioned the lava pools to Inferno who had taken the news happily. Mechs with regular sparks handled stasis just fine but Elementals didn't. It wasn't natural for them and they needed to be back in their core element. Since Prowl had ordered people to take a break in shifts and he was off duty, Inferno decided now would be the best time to go see. 

He could have recharged, and probably should have after all those exhausting repairs and the cleaning they'd done, but he didn't want to after so much stasis. A lava bath would make him feel much more awake. 

Ringing footsteps from metal on metal changed to quieter thumps as the floor turned to dirt, the metal sheets having torn away in spots and disappearing below ground in others. The walls vanished shortly after until the mech was surrounded by black basalt and darkness with only his optics to light the way. Tiny clouds of dusty powder drifted up with each footsteps. As he went in farther, the temperature started to warm up. Rounding a corner heralded a faint light and a surge of warmth. 

“Ahhhh...” Inferno smiled. It had been too cold for too long. 

Another few steps and he entered a chamber filled with a slow but steady magma flow. Heat waves shimmered and blurred the edges on the far end of the glowing pool. Laughing out loud in glee, the mech quickly found a flat area away from the edge and sat down on the igneous rocks. His armor creaked from disuse as he opened his chestplates. Instead of a glowing spark, a fiery ball of molten metal coiled and spun slowly.

The sphere changed shape, forming arms, legs, and a head as it pulled itself out of the armored body and grew bigger. Bipedal and dark red in color, the lava elemental flexed it's limbs and groaned in appreciation. The limbs were only roughly formed, as if a sculptor hadn't the care to finish out a figure. Empty indents showed on the sphere of a head where the optics should have been. No mouth or nose, helm decorations or harsh edges decorated his body, just the rough form of a person made of flowing metal.

“Far too long.” Inferno stretched and looked down at his armor, settling the legs so they wouldn't be sore when he climbed back in later. 

Now the same size as his metal body, the elemental took note of his true form with a frown. “I should be brighter than this. Dark red is not a good color.” A nice glowing orange yellow was healthy. Burgundy with brittle black patches forming was definitely not. The medics on the ship would throw a fit if they knew he had grown so cold. 

But that was easily fixed. With no hesitation, the elemental slipped first one foot then the other into the lava and slid the rest of the way in. Barely waiting a second, Inferno submerged into the soupy heat and soaked up energy. 

'There's a lot of iron and magnesium here', he thought distantly. The silica levels weren't as high as he was used to and it gave the thick liquid a sweet sour taste but Inferno didn't mind. Lava was lava and this was paradise for the moment. Inferno floated and drifted in his element for some time before shaking himself into wakefulness. He rose just enough for his head to peer above the surface and large hands flicked the molten drops to make tiny flames dance atop the swirling liquid. 

Swimming up, Inferno noted with satisfaction that his body was now a wonderful glowing molten gold color. Perfect. In a much better mood, the mech started to shape the liquid into different form. It was fun to be playful. 

“I'll have to convince Red to come down when he's not busy....” He murmured out loud. Red Alert liked to watch Inferno create thing out of lava and it had been a very long time since they'd had a chance to do so. Humming quietly, the elemental made small creatures before letting them dissipate back into the flow. He continued to play, unaware that others were heading his way. 

“I'm telling you we already mapped this area!” 

The snap came from a red and blue minibot, holding up a datapad to examine the network of pathways drawn on it. On his left, a large reptilian beast similar in appearance to a komodo dragon rolled his glassy dark optics. Black druzy crystals edged the tiny plates of armor and twinkled faint orange and green. “I can smell the difference Gears. You're looking at the east end on level two. This tunnel is taking us north and is much farther back. And we're at least another level down.”

“Alright, lets not get into an argument guys.” Trailbreaker tried to reason with them. He was very hard to see in the partial darkness, black armor blending in with the rocky walls. Gears snarked. 

“Too late, we already are.”

With a huff, the basilisk moved over to the other side of the tunnel so Trailbreaker was between them, his helm even with the larger mech's thighs. But after a moment or so, he stopped. The others paused as well and looked back. Gears sighed, “What now Brawn?”

Pushing himself up onto two legs, the basilisk raised his snout to the air. A long split tongue flicked out, sampling scents. “I smell something.... sulfur maybe and heated metal. Something else too. It's familiar.”

“I bet we're near the lava pools Beachcomber mentioned.” Trailbreaker put in, watching Brawn continue to stare down the obscure hallway, “Which means we aren't by the east end.”

Sighing loudly, Gears used a stylus to rearrange the map and correct the markings, “Fine fine, so we haven't mapped this yet. Can we just go and finish already so I can get some recharge? I've been up for who knows how long and I really need a cube too. Why can't we have the energon dispensers going yet, hmm?”

Brawn dropped back to four paws and waddled slowly, tail swinging as he stalked forward, the other two following after. Brightening his optics for a better visual, Trailbreaker declined to answer the somewhat rhetorical question. After a few footsteps, faint light appeared ahead and the basilisk stopped again. His scales flared up the tiniest bit and his rough voice startled the others, “There's something ahead. I know what that smell is but I can't remember. It's not just volcanic gasses.....Hmph, well there's no point in waiting to figure it out.” 

The basilisk scramble ahead without warning. With a sigh, as if the world was conspiring to keep him from finishing his job, the red and blue minibot grumbled and followed, Trailbreaker scrambling after. The three found themselves in a large chamber of lava, the ceiling far above their helms. Heat and light washed over them in a dizzying wave. 

“Hey.” Gears spoke up in surprise, looking to the right, “There's a bot over there.”

Quite close to the entrance lay a large red and black body, autobot symbol twinkling in the burning glow. Trailbreaker gasped and knelt down to check the darkened optics and empty chest. “I know who this guy is! His name's Inferno, he was helping down in the command center a few hours ago.” 

“He doesn't have any wounds.” Gears examined the open spark-chamber in puzzlement. “This is weird.”

“I remembered what that scent was.” A quiet solemn note from Brawn, standing a little apart from the other two.

The others didn't look up. Trailbreaker was too upset to pay any attention to the statement. He'd just met Inferno earlier in the solar cycle and they'd gotten along quite well. Crossing his arms, Gears rolled his optics in annoyance and looked over at the basilisk. “We really don't care right now.”

Brawn was on his hind legs again, turned away from them and looking out at the lava pools. “Elemental.”

Now the other two did pay more attention and glanced over to where the other minibot was looking. On the other side of the molten pools a glowing figure splashed about, sliding around in the thick liquid and throwing up vortexes of flames and melted rock. The three autobots looked at each other silently before Gears drew his gun. Trailbreaker looked back and forth between the body and the elemental. “Wait, we don't know that he did this....”

“There's nobody else around.” Brawn growled, shifting to his bipedal form. Scales lengthened and smoothed to become flat metal plating, glamour hiding the crystal edges while limbs twisted and bent. In seconds a green and orange minibot with a rounded helm stood in the basilisk's place. He knelt and hefted a boulder far larger then he was, lifting it high before hurling it with a loud cry at the elemental in the pool. 

That was just enough of a warning to alert Inferno of the incoming projectile and he lunged to the side as the rock crashed down, sending up fiery waves. Seconds after, shots hit him in the back. He turned to see an unfamiliar minibot and Trailbreaker grimly shooting at him with another mech picking up a large rock. 

“What are you guys doing...?!” The elemental tried to yell over the noise of the blaster fire, arms held up to protect his face. 

The laserfire couldn't actually hurt him, no heat based weapon could. But that didn't mean he couldn't feel it. Brawn realized their laserfire was making the elemental stronger seconds after his companions started to shoot. “Hold fire! He's made of heat! We need a cold weapon.”

The minibot hurled another boulder quickly. Inferno dodged again and tried yelling. “Stop fighting me! Why are we fighting?!”

“This is for Inferno!” 

A bellow from Trailbreaker, who pulled a shrapnel grenade from subspace to throw. It arced high before hitting near the center of the pools. Exploding, shards of hardened metal went every which way. Being a mentalist with forcefield specialization, the large black mech threw one up in time to keep the debris from hitting himself and the two minibots. Not so luckily, Inferno was covered in pinpricks of melting shrapnel as it pierced his body. 

It didn't quite hurt but it was still unpleasant. The elemental risked another look to the shore where he saw his metal shell behind the Autobots and suddenly Trailbreaker's yell made sense. 

One seemingly dead body plus one unknown plus paranoid warriors equals fire fight. Lovely.

On the upside, fire fights were his specialty and Inferno had had enough. 

He sank back down before anything else could be thrown his way and gathering the heat and molten rock into his body, growing bigger and bigger until he surfaced. Straightening, his fiery body nearly brushed the pointed ceiling and he had to duck. Below, the other Autobots looked up in horror as they realized they were well and truly screwed. The lava elemental was now the size of a small titan and took up almost the entire chamber. Inferno lifted his servos and slammed them down onto the shore. The resulting quake sent the three bots tumbling. 

“I AM INFERNO AND WE ARE NOT FIGHTING.” Thundered the huge being. 

Silence, as the bots gaped. Trailbreaker gulped and looked back and forth between the metal body of his new friend and the annoyed molten elemental glowering down at them. Brawn straightened with a huff and set his servos on his hipplates. “Prove it!”

The other two winced. Gears tensed and waited to see what the elemental would do but Inferno just sighed. “Blaster has the comms up and working. Call an officer and ask what species I am.” He spoke at normal tones now, although his voice was still deep and loud due to his size. 

Expression mulish, Brawn just raised his helm to try and stare down the giant who ignored him. Gears merely wrapped his fingers tighter around his gun, even knowing it wouldn't do any good. Raising himself from his sprawled position to crouch, Trailbreaker called the first officer he thought of. 

/Commander Jazz- This is Trailbreaker./

/Hey TB/ The third in command's lazy drawl came down the line like a soothing balm, calming the big bot. /What's up mech?/

/Um... you know Inferno, right? What is he?/ The Officers were supposed to know everyone and their species or at least be able to look it up instantly to avoid incidents. A second of silence before Jazz answered, sounding incredibly curious and the tiniest bit avoidant. 

/That ah do mech. Whatja need tah know for?/

/Threat evaluation./

/Ah./ A short bark of understanding laughter. /Lava elemental./

“He's Inferno.” Trailbreaker let out a sigh of relief and looked up at the giant. “Sorry about that.” Muttering under his breath, Gears turned away with a snort while Brawn rolled his optics and shrugged as an apology for the fight.

“Sorry.”

/Anybody dead or hurt?/ Jazz asked, sounding like he really didn't want to deal with dead people at the moment.

Inferno shrank, returning to his normal size and stepping fully out of the pool. “It's alright. I understand what happened.”

“We still should have asked first instead of assuming.” Pulling himself up to a stand, Trailbreaker rubbed the back of his helm, “You aren't hurt, are you?” A helm shake as the elemental moved toward his metal body. 

/Negative sir./

Letting out a loud and over-exaggerated sound of relief through the comms, Jazz piped up cheerfully. /'S good. You an' whoever come on down tah Prowler's office so we can sort this out./

/Yes sir./

Body diminishing and compressing, Inferno fitted himself back into his spark chamber and closed the plating, optics lighting up a molten gold. He easily accepted the helping hand Trailbreaker held out to him. “We have to go to Prowl's office. Um... I'm Trailbreaker. We met earlier.”

Inferno grinned, no ill feelings for the earlier confusion present, “I remember. The forcefield mentalist.” He turned to the minibots. The green and orange one eyed him for a moment before nodding his helm in greeting and giving a weary smile. 

“Brawn. Basilisk. Guess we interrupted, huh?”

“Don't worry about it too much. I needed to get out eventually.” They started back down the tunnel toward the main part of the base. Inferno tilted his helm at the last mech. The minibot shrugged. 

“Gears.”

“Nice to meet you.” Curiously noting that the minibot didn't say what he was, Inferno was polite enough to let it be.

Gears continued with flat grumbling, “Yeah, you too. Does anyone know where Prowl's office is? I haven't been in there yet.” He pulled out the map to take a look. “And slag, I really could use a cube now. Why do these tunnels have to be so complicated to map out?”

Rubbing his helm, Brawn groaned at the repeat of a previous conversation while Inferno stifled a chuckle.

“I think we could all go for a cube.” Trailbreaker laughed and linked his servos behind his helm as they wandered back through the darkness. 

 

Less than an hour later, Prowl sent out a message that everyone would be attending a mandatory meeting to go over crewmates and species so there would be no confusion on who not to shoot.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lava Elemental: Of the elemental scale, lava elementals fall more toward the fire and earth section. They often merge with open volcanoes to gain power and cannot be stopped with ordinary weapons. Heat gives them strength and the stronger they are, the larger they can make themselves. The brighter they are, the healthier and stronger. When a lava elemental burns out and dies, his or her body turns dark gray or black and become hard and brittle. 
> 
> Basilisk: A cousin species to Veknas and Crystal Dragons, basilisk armor is much more compact and has a druzy appearance instead of larger crystals. A long and thickset reptilians with a thick tail, four legs, claws, and a lizard snout. Their teeth are razor sharp and bite venomous. They are mildly territorial and can make any species of metal and circuits freeze in their tracks with their gaze.


	3. From The Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music: Koven - From the Start

A thick tail brushed over leaves and pine needles as the being padded along quietly. Raising a thick snout to test the air, he mulled over the variety of tangy, bitter, and sharp alien scents before jumping up the boulders. Gray stone paws clacked quietly against the slabs as the four-legged beast found a spot he liked on the craggy incline by the Ark.

If anyone had been lower on the slope and looked up, they would have thought a statue had been left on the mountainside. Somewhat feline in shape, the stone creature's body was a little stockier than one would expect and the tusks sticking out of his lower jaw as well as the over-sized curved claws were a little concerning. However, softly glowing blue lights in the hollows where the eyes should have been gave off a reassuring and peaceful radiance. Mostly gray in color, faint stripes and blotches of green in the rough hide lent it the appearance of a sculpture. The Guardian yawned, lizard-like tail swishing a little before he took stock of his surroundings.

From his perch, Hound could see a good distance. The land spread out to the East and South, open plains with small patches of tall and thin flora. He could see far that way, green and mauve fading to sandy brown in the distance as if someone had taken a paintbrush to the land and colored it in sweeping strokes. Farther to the East appeared some large hills or perhaps a small mountain. It was hard to tell from his perch. To the West lay a dense forest of the same plants, needle-like leaves sticking out in all directions to conceal everything in a mask of green. Behind the mech and off to the right, the rocks and boulders lifted higher, gently sloping up to the mountaintop.

It was pretty. Rumbling, the low sound to boulders scratching against each other in a deep cavernous place, the Autobot flexed his claws. He liked all the shades of green. It would be easy to blend in here, something Hound appreciated greatly.

Clouds drifted out of the way and sunlight swathed over him suddenly, covering the land in bright patterns. He purred louder, body shifting as granite skin flowed and molded itself into a vague bipedal shape, digit lengthening into fingers and tail disappearing. The gray darkened and smoothed out, taking the appearance of pitted green metal and armor plates. Raising his servos up to the sun, Hound smiled widely and let out a happy sound.

A mix between a quiet roar and a moaning howl, the cry echoed through the trees and down the slope.

Ground. Sky, ground, plants, creatures, planet. It was all good. Hound hated space, hated being in ships (sentient or not) and was so very thrilled with being planet-side again. There was so much to explore. Raising his face, he closed his optics and basked in the sun's warmth.

There was a quiet step behind him, just to let him know that another was approaching and to not startle. Karkadanns weren't heard unless they wanted to be. As it was a scent he recognized, the Guardian didn't react when a thin frame leaned against his back. A blue helm rested on his left shoulder pad as he lowered his arms.

"I see you are happier." Mirage murmured, taking in the view, "My, what a vibrant place. Do you think they have crystal flowers?" The mech loved crystal plants, regardless of where they came from.

Hound opened his optics a slit, still smiling, "I have no idea. And yeah, I'm really glad we're on solid ground. Just look at all this!"

Servos going out, he gestured at the textured land, the giant blue sky that surrounded them, tiny insects and pollen dancing in the sun's golden rays. Light created halos through the branches of the forest, deep dioptase greens and dark brown mixed with tawny patches. Twittering from strange creatures sang a tempting song to come explore the darkness under the boughs. Hound shifted, feeling the rough ground beneath his feet and flexed them again, resisting the urge to run. "Just think of all the new things to see!"

Mirage hid a smile by tucking his helm into the crook of the Guardian's neck, "It is exciting."

A long pause. "...yeah."

That quiet reply that was more a near silent sigh than an actual word had Mirage straightening and pulling away with a frown. "What is it?"

"I..." Pain and hesitance reflecting in his optics, the Guardian turned to look at Mirage for the first time, gazing at worried gold optics. "I miss home."

Cybertron had been dead when they left. And the chances of that changing while they were in stasis was very low. He missed the Manganese Mountains, the thick Obsidian forests and glittering cities. Hound knew Mirage missed it too. The blue and white mech came from the stepped plateaus and undoubtedly longed to climb them again. His sorrow showed when he ran. There were no other Karkadanns left and everyone knew they ran in herds. That was why Mirage always asked others if they would like to run with him, or drive if they had wheels. As long as he wasn't alone.

"As do I," Murmured the other bot, a tired smile showing. "And perhaps one day we will see it again. But for now, we are here."

They both turned to look at the sun, golden light bathing them in warmth and hope. Perhaps, one day the sun would shine on Cybertron too. Perhaps their crystals gardens would grow and glimmer, the spiraling silver towers rising to the sky as if daring to reach beyond, mountains and oceans and jungles sprawling out across the planet. Home. Perhaps...

"Run with me?"

A quiet plea, a half grin and crooked optic ridge as the spy looked at Hound. Smiling, the mech nodded. In a blur of twisting stone, the Guardian stretched out his legs and paws. Shaking himself, he looked to Mirage.

Metal shifted, interweaving around itself until the Karkadann landed on four hooves. A barrel shaped body and long neck were supported by thin legs that looked too spindly to hold anything up. His tail twitched, long and thin like a whip and Mirage shook his head, the curved knife shaped horn on his forehelm slicing the air. Armor the color of diamond glitter white and sky blue stood out from the muted mountainside like a gem in a bowl of shore pebbles. A whicker blew out, giving a glimpse of a double row of razor-sharp teeth. Kicking his legs in joy for finally being able to stretch properly, Mirage pranced in place giddily, now nearly two heads taller than the tracker.

"You haven't ran at all since we woke up, have you?" Chuckled Hound.

Merely flipping his tail in subtle insult, the Karkadann took a few jolting steps forward and turned to see Hound. "Well? The sun may go down if you wait forever."

"It's still morning!"

Laughing, Hound started to scramble down the slope on swift paws as Mirage took the lead, movements as easy and lilting as a dance. They quickly reached the flatter ground and raced through the scrubby grassland. Legs pumped as hooves and paws set a quick rhythm. Alien plants brushed against their sides while they whooped and raced. Heading for distant mountains, the pair chased the sun for as long as they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guardian: Often mistaken for statues, these beings regularly sit outside city gates or at crossroads for long periods of time but are also often found wandering the wilds of the planet. No particular area is their natural habitat. Guardians are made of a hard yet flexible granite like substance that is warm to the touch and not easily cracked or broken. These stone creatures are very territorial and will defend their territory and those in it to the death. Guardians are said to have been created by Primus to protect Cybertron, although not everyone believes this. However, they do live up to their name and reputation. Once they find something or someone to guard, they become very protective.
> 
> Karkadann: Unfortunately for the Karkadann, their name is not a pleasant one to other Cybertronians. Being able to survive only on energon first consumed by others due to their delicate consumption systems, they have a bad but not completely unfounded reputation of eating others. Stories of the carnivorous herds attacking lone wanderers on the Platinum Steppes and surrounding plains have existed as far back as anyone can remember. In modern times, Karkadanns usually get their energon from a medbay where it's been donated. Karkadanns are build for speed and have two main defenses besides their teeth. The bladed horn can cut through most metals and the tail can strip paint off armor if a hard enough slash is delivered. Most magics do not affect Karkadanns and they can negate minor curses they try.  
> .  
> .  
> If anyone wants to guess what creatures the other characters are, then comment and I'll tell you if you're right or wrong. Even if you're right and the character hasn't showed up yet. (please remember I've already decided what all of them are, so don't be offended if you want someone to be a specific something and that doesn't happen).
> 
> Also, if you just want to ask about the general species and such, you can hop over to my tumblr: http://darkwalk.tumblr.com/  
> and ask. I'll be more than happy to share headcanons.


	4. Not A Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You must never run from anything immortal. It attracts their attention.” -Peter S. Beagle (The Last Unicorn)

Humans are funny creatures. They claim to be rational beings; too smart to believe in myths, too knowledgeable in the ways of the world to think that perhaps they don't already know or understand all there is to be known.

And yet, when faced with an impossibility, they so easily fall back to believing.

They were not prepared when a large metal gray monstrosity fell from the sky with a ground-quivering thud to land in the middle of the ring of buildings. Glass rattled, papers flying off desks and coffee cups spilling on the ground as people yelped and staggered. Anyone near a window looked out.

Only to scream or gape in mindless panic.

Uncoiling itself, the giant stretched. One massive paw crunched on the concrete, another three following it before the being pulled itself out of the small crater it had created. It shifted it's weight back and fourth on it's cat-like legs, shoulders on level with the top the structures. A broad and flat muzzle lowered as fiery red eyes lit from within glared down at the humans by the windows. The few outside quickly ran indoors for all the good it would do them.

Bony wings covered in a thick silver mesh flared, as a quill-laden tail stretching up in a poised position. It's lips curled, in disgust or cruelty no one could tell, before it threw it's head back and roared.

Like a thunderclap physically slamming into them, the sound hit the humans and they screamed in response. Some clawed at their ears, trying to block out the pain. Others simply collapsed, unable to handle the shear terror coursing through them. It was a savage cry of rage and carnage that made them shiver down to their bones.

When it was over, silence rang out. It seemed to mute every living thing for miles. Only the roar and rush of the waterfall next to the hydroplant dared make a sound. Stance proud, the large beast let out a satisfied huff and watched the insects stare at him with terrified faces. He rumbled a chuckle before stalking forward and deigning to speak in their language.

“Humans.” His deep voice was impossible to ignore, grating over their ears. Quiet gasps echoed from within the buildings and hiding places. “I claim this place for the Decepticons. Flee.”

The last word was stated in a bored manner as three smaller fliers alighted down beside him. Shining under the sun, the crystal dragons landed quietly, as if they were too high and mighty to do something as rude as drop in with a bang like their leader. Next to the behemoth they seemed delicate, like their translucent wings could snap at the lightest blow. The red, white, and blue flier fluffed his wings and gazed around coolly before looking at their leader and clicking something.

Inside the buildings, the humans couldn't understand what was being said. The one that spoke before appeared to be arguing with the tricolored dragon while the other two, blue and violet, started investigating the turbines in the water.

“What the fuck are those things?!”

“Those are dragons you idiot!” Hissed one of the hydroplant technicians to his coworker as he lifted his head enough to peer out the window before dropping back into a crouch, “Or have you been living under a rock?”

“I meant the big gray one! That doesn't look like a dragon!”

The secretary tried not to stammer as she shivered under her desk, a couple feet away. Brunette hair was starting to come loose from it's braid. “It-t's a manti-ticore. But they're n-not su-pose-sss-ed to b-be metal. Or tha-at big. Looks l-like a damn ro-robot.”

Confused, the first speaker frowned at her, “Wait, those monsters from video games?”

“It's from Persian mythology!” She snapped, losing her stammer to indignation. They fell silent as two other people tried to scramble into the room without making too much noise. Stepping in first to make eyes contact with the humans already there, a man in his late thirties gave the room a once over before completely entering. A young teen who was obviously his son by the similar facial features followed after. His hazel eyes were wide and somewhat unfocused, flickering around like invisible things were about to attack him. Both wore heavy work boots and grease-stained pants. The elder had a tool belt on.

Pulling his son toward the row of tables, the man gestured for him to sit down and then he himself crouched by the others to get a look out the window. One of the workers gave him a funny look, “Who're you?”

“The mechanic who was fixing your vehicles outside.” The father growled, dark eyes narrowing at the giant beings.

Screeching made them twitch. The tricolored dragon seemed to be arguing with the manticore, shrill notes of scorn scratching along their insides at the noise. As one the humans cringed. Apparently having none of it, the larger beast lashed out a heavy paw and smacked the crystal being away. It crashed into one of the buildings and leveraged itself up with a shriek, needle-like teeth bared in fury. Rumbling, the manticore smiled in amusement before lazily using it's tail to rip the roof off a building. From inside came screams and terrible crashing before silence fell.

From their view, the small group of humans could just barely see the other dragons by the turbines. Reflective glass surfaces seemed to stretch and shift until metal humanoid figures with wings stood in place of the blue and violet dragons. They pulled empty glass cubes out from somewhere and started stacking them next to the generator.

“Did you see that?! They look like people now!” Whispered the video game guy.

The secretary whined nasally, “I don't care if they look like care bears! We should run before they come over this way.”

“Noooooo!” Protested the other lab tech immediately, “They want us to run so they can eat us! That's why that thing told us to flee.”

“Well they can break the buildings anyway, so what difference does it make?” Video game guy snapped.

The mechanic took in a sharp breath, still staring out the window. His son shifted, unable to see what he was staring at from his position by the tables. “Dad.....?”

“Stay there.” Automatically replied the father before looking at the other three adults. “Someone's trying to run.”

Morbid curiosity had them warily looking out. A figure could be seen dashing between the buildings toward the pine forest surrounding the complex. Away from the waterfall wasn't a bad direction to take, out of the manticore's line of sight and a good distance from the winged giants. Unfortunately, it attracted the purple and black one's attention. Far swifter than a being that size should have the right to move, the monster dashed after. One foot came down precariously close to the man, a clawed hand slicing the air just above his head. The humanoid dragon was toying with him, a cat letting a mouse scramble around to prolong the game.

However, a sharp sound from the apparent leader had the purple one looking up, red guileless eyes hurt that anyone would tell him off for playing. Taking advantage of the distraction, the runaway quickly dashed into the trees that were growing too thickly together for the giant to follow. Said monstrosity looked down again with a pout when he realized his playmate had escaped.

“Anybody think they're lucky enough to pull that off?” Questioned the more twitchy of the lab technicians. Heavy sarcasm underscored his words and no one bothered to actually answer. The secretary crawled over to the tables next to the boy and slid under to lay on her stomach. It afforded her a little more cover and made the woman feel safer even if it only offered meager protection.

“I'm staying here until that thing comes over to destroy our building. Then I'm running like h-hell.” She whispered, a tiny tremor trying to make itself known before she pushed it down.

The boy solemnly offered a palm and she reached out her hand to squeeze his, a quivery smile on her lips, “Thanks kid.”

“Hey.... what is that?” One of the men murmured.

They fell quiet and listened. From outside came a distant sound. Heavy thrumming, that of a large and powerful engine, reached their ears and apparently that of their aggressors if the sudden tense body language of the giants was anything to go by. Quickly, the humanoid dragons started to do something with the glass cubes, filling them with a strange glowing pink liquid. Where exactly it came from, none of the watching humans could say. The tri-colored dragon shifted onto two feet to help.

The manticore flared it's wings, front leaning down in a crouch as he prepared to spring. It's spiny tail flicked up like a scorpions. Teeth bared, raging eyes narrowed at the only road that led to the hydroplant.

Tires screeching around the curve, a large and strange looking red and blue vehicle sped toward the beast, not pausing as the manticore opened it's maw and flames started to build.  
.  
.  
.

Optimus was afraid.

Not of Megatron though. He'd faced that savage wildling often enough that it had become a strange routine, one where he lunged into the fight in a trance. Automatic motions of swinging a blade or bringing a gun up to fire, that he often didn't feel it at first when the Decepticon leader landed a blow. Although, he had enough scars from Megatron's claws that perhaps he should have been more wary.

But no. What sent tingles of worry down his lines were the glimpses of tiny pale faces peering out the windows of buildings. Prime knew humans were smaller than Cybertronians, but not that small! There was no more time to look at them though, before Megatron spat fire and lunged.

Optimus transformed. Mid-leap he brought out his blade. Energy crackled along the ax edge and flared brightly as the bot swung it down and across, catching the manticore along the collar plating.

A roar. They both landed heavily on scrambling feet. The fight began.

“Autobot scum!” Starscream screeched, firing his null rays at Cliffjumper and Bumblebee as the minibots took cover behind the corner of a mostly destroyed building. “Why can't you stay dead?!”

“Then who would you fight with?” Bumblebee snarked back over the roars of Ironhide and the Prime fighting Megatron.

Prowl stepped up behind them, trying to snipe Skywarp and Thundercracker as the pair quickly stuffed energon cubes into their subspace. Coolly landing a shot on the blue seeker, Prowl admonished Bee, “Do not antagonize the enemy.”

“Sorry Sir.”

The loud snort from Cliffjumper was ignored as Skywarp disappeared in a flash and dropped down on Ironhide, the red bot distracted from trying to assist Optimus. Starscream retreated back behind the machinery connected to the turbines as Cliffjumper nearly blew his arm off with a heavy shot from a large gun. The corner of the building exploded into shrapnel. Identical bellows of glee and a surprised yelp revealed the Twins position, having snuck around behind the complex to attack the seekers. Snarls became louder as the fighting figures danced between the buildings. Sideswipe slammed Starscream to the ground for only a second before the mech as up and slashing at Sunstreaker's optics. Coordinated moves quickly turned into an all-out brawl as the three crashed against buildings and into the main fight in the center of the complex.

Thundercracker settled into a position to defend the last of the energon cubes, trading shots with the bots across the concrete. Lips thinning, Prowl paused in firing to deliver orders. “Bumblebee, help Mirage remove the humans from the battleground.”

A quick comm told him Mirage was already working on getting the natives out of the building to their left so the minibot focused on the two structures across no man's land. Getting across without being shot or grabbed was going to be difficult. Blue optics narrowed at the wrestling figures.

“Well this sucks.”

Taking a step back and fully behind the cover of the concrete blocks, Bumblebee shifted to his true form. Metal lengthened, growing thinner and almost translucent as double wings snapped out of his back. They beat so fast it was impossible to actually see them although they produced a low hum that couldn't be heard above the roar of fighting. Horns curved up and thinned, making them appear delicate. Shaking off the glamour, Bee crouched and kicked off, launching himself into the air.

Zipping above the fight, he twirled easily around blaster fire. Bee landed quickly at the corner of the long building Thundercracker crouched at the other end of. Pulling open the door, an annoyed chitter burst out. He was just slightly too big to fit through the side door. He peered around the back side and kept an optic on the far end. Thundercracker wasn't in his sights.

There was a larger set of cargo doors up several concrete steps around a loading bay. Grinning, the mech moved to open them. And quickly scrambled to dodge as someone fired at him from above.

Skywarp had gotten bored of Ironhide and the others. The con warped across the sky to avoid the shots aimed his way and noticed the yellow scout all by himself. Giggling to himself, he started shooting. When he couldn't land a hit on the minibot, he shifted back to his true form and dived.

Bumblebee took to the air when the dragon swooped down to snatch at him with his claws. They chased each other above the buildings. Skywarp teleported ahead several times but Bee was never there a second before the Con was in his space. Flickering about like an erratic dragonfly, he seemed to be there one moment and gone the next, fading in and out of existence as he barrel-rolled. His wings gave off a high whine as they buzzed as fast as they could. Skywarp roared his annoyance. They picked up speed, whipping around from one spot to the next.

They spiraled lower, between the fighters. Bee darted between Sunstreaker and Ironhide. He took a daring risk and spun under Megatron when the manticore reared up on his hind legs, close enough to brush the behemoth's underbelly. Skywarp followed but was too big and crashed, taking his leader's legs out from under him and they went down. Realizing he'd lost his pursuer, Bumblebee paused to hover for a second and slowed his aching wings. At the corner of the farther building, the mech kept a wary optic on the howling pile of mechs in the center of the hydroplant. But a tiny movement caught his eye.

There was a window near him. Looking down at the sheet of glass, he saw three humans staring back, fear in their wide eyes. One of them made a startled sound when they realized he'd spotted them.

Behind them, he could see part of another adult under a table and a smaller organic. The youngling stared him right in the optic, gaze a mixture of curious, wary, and amazed. Bumblebee smiled at him gently and the youngling's face made a funny expression. His optic ridges went up and down and lips pursed. Perhaps he was confused.

To the boy, the strange metal being looked almost.....kind? They'd all seen it flying about but it had been hard to focus on. Even now, only a few feet away from them, the edges of it's curved yellow armor seemed indistinct. The translucent panels faded in and out of the sunlight with each movement, like a clear gemstone. He wondered how the being was flying and noticed a blur on the robot's back. Did it have wings? Thin and long horns reminded him of antennae but what really got his attention was the large silver eyes set in an elfin face that studied him right back.

It gave a gentle smile.

And then a bellow from Optimus startled everyone. Bumblebee looked up again, chiding himself for getting distracted, and realized Prowl and Cliffjumper had driven the blue seeker to the middle of the fight. Flying up, Bumblebee landed on the top of the building and crouched on the edge, small clawed feet digging into the soft materials. He brought out his gun and waited. The Prime pulled away from Megatron, neatly deflecting wicked claws with his ax and raising his voice.

“You're outnumbered and surrounded Megatron!”

Realizing it as truth, the Decepticon leader roared in frustration. “Decepticons! Retreat!”

Starscream screeched his displeasure at the choice and shifted back to dragon form, taking to the skies. With mighty wing beats, the other crystalline beasts and the manticore followed. Wearily, the Autobots stowed their weapons. Bumblebee flipped off the roof and landed on the ground quietly. “I didn't get any of the humans out.” He apologized to Prowl. Wings flickered to a stop, making the glass laced with hexagon wiring visible. They drooped absently at his worry for not carrying out an order.

“It is alright.” Prowl nodded at him, “You were engaged with Skywarp and kept him distracted. Mirage relocated a number of the natives to the forest.”

“Not all of them.” The spy appeared next to Prowl, fading into existence from empty air. 

Optimus sighed, leaning on the handle of his weapon. While energon sluggishly flowed from the few wounds Megatron had managed to land, the mech studied the now damaged property. Trees on the fringe were either scorched or knocked down from the Twin’s brawl. Holes, cracks, and smashed walls decorated the buildings while the broken concrete below their feet gave testimony to the fight. And it had been a skirmish more than anything else. Optimus would have bet the other Decepticons were at other power stations gathering energy, but there was nothing they could do. They didn’t know where they were, nor would they be able to get their fast enough. And here, Megatron had gotten away with a number energon cubes, although some abandoned ones glowed innocently next to the turbines and rushing waters. For now, they would have to focus on this hydroplant. 

“Help any humans still about. Ironhide, the remaining energon if you would.”

“Sure thin’ Prahm.” With a steady nod, the bigger mech made with way over to subspace the cubes. Prowl and the others started to pull apart the broken pieces of the building that had been damaged by Megatron before they’d arrived. They worked quickly to help out the survivors.

Raising his voice, although not to its previous levels, Optimus addressed everyone in English, “We mean you no harm. Please allow us to help you.”

Several people slipped out of the buildings and disappeared into the trees, although some slowed their run when they realized the new metal giants wouldn’t give chase. A few even slunk back warily, watching from around the corners of the buildings and the debris. The Autobots noticed of course, but they weren’t exactly surprised. No one made any moves to stop the natives from leaving.

Mirage brought a man who claimed to be in charge to Optimus. Shaking almost inperceptively, the man brushed mortar dust off his suit and tried to hold a steady conversation with the metal giant. It was stilted, but the main points were getting across. Bumblebee headed back toward the building in the corner. He looked up at the second story window and frowned when there was no one there. 

Bee pulled his glamour around himself, wings folding away, horns nubby again, and appearance becoming more solid. Standing on the tips of his feet, he gave the window a barely felt tap. “Hello? It’s safe to come out now. The Decepticons,” he paused, realizing they didn’t know what that word meant, “Those other ones from before are gone.”

Silence. The room he looked into appeared empty. But he picked up a quiet hiss near the back behind large shelving and filing cabinets. 

“-gonna eat us.”

“Shuddup!” Another hiss. 

Bumblebee grimaced before piping up, “No one’s going to eat you. That,” he emphasized, unable to hold back a shudder at the though, “would be gross.”

Another pause before he heard a whack. Confused, the mech tilted his head. Had one of the humans smacked the other? Whatever for? Although he still couldn’t see them, the first one piped up again. “How do we know you’re not gonna grab us when we come out?”

“Will you p-please shut up!?” This voice was higher pitched and shrilled. 

Stretching even higher and almost slipping, the mech tried to get a better view through the window, “Seriously, nobody eats humans. That would be really really gross. The other humans are outside. Come look.”

He backed away from the window and waited. After a moment or so, a thicker set man edged up to the window and took a look out. Noticing the other people standing in groups around the giants, he turned his head to nod at the others. The rest of the humans cautiously peered out. Bumblebee tried to appear non-threatening.

“Are any of you injured? We can ferry you to the nearest medical bay if needed.”

The humans looked at each other before a couple of the adults shrugged. “We'll... be down in a minute.” Bumblebee nodded and waved at the youngling as he caught sight of the boy behind the larger humans. Surprisingly, the boy waved back, a bemused look on his face. They disappeared from sight again but after a moment, the glass front door on the ground floor opened. It was spider-webbed with cracks and impossible to see through. Even as it was pushed open slowly, shards fell to shatter on the ground. Bee winced. 

“Um, yeah. Sorry about the damage.”

“I'm just glad we're alive.” Sighed the first human out, the thicker set male. He scratched his head and adjusted the tool belt around his waist. Following him, came a female with longer hair. Frowning up at him, she stuttered, “Uh....w-what are you?”

“Cybertronian,” Bee knelt and sat on some broken bits of wall, “from Cybertron. Specifically though, I'm a Sylph.”

The humans stared back blankly, although the boy spoke up, “So you're an alien?” At the mech's nod, he grinned widely, “Cool.”

Optimus called everyone together, interrupting their conversation. The Bots had finished helping everyone they could out of the rubble and anyone else just lingered around the edges of the property like they weren't sure what to do with themselves. At the Prime's call, the human in charge raising his own voice just after, everyone wandered closer to form a group in the center of the asphalt. 

“Hello. First, anyone in need of immediate medical attention, Ironhide,” Optimus gestured at the large red mech, “will carry you to the nearest medical facility. I'm afraid someone will have to direct him and provide details on traffic laws.”

“There's vehicles b'hind that buildin'” Ironhide spoke only to the the bots before dropping into his new altmode and opening the back doors. 

A couple people with broken limbs and deep cuts were helped into the van and then Ironhide slowly started driving down the road toward the city. That done, Optimus turned back to the remaining natives. “I know this is confusing and strange. First, I'll repeat that we will not harm you. This I promise.”

Worried faces looked at him. A few nodded, believing in his words as their actions proved they only wanted to help. Some kept their suspicion apparent in their expressions and stance. 

“Second, we are Cybertronians from Cybertron. Those who attacked you earlier are like us but not with us. They are leaders of a group known as Decepticons. They are not friendly toward your people, and for that I am sorry.”

“And who are you?” Someone brave piped up. The human leader who stood next to Optimus made a face and a strange gesture with his hands and neck. The bots didn't understand it. However, Prime easily answered.

“I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots.” 

There was much murmuring while a few people grew too tired to stand and sat on the torn up ground. Another asked a question, “Why are you here?”

“It was not our intention.” Interred Prowl calmly, regal helm turning down to explain to the group, “We crashed here some time ago and were in stasis until recently.”

“How long ago is 'some time'” The boy Bumblebee had seen before came over and stood right next to Prowl, despite the older male's surprised protest. Prowl's lips thinned, taking on the faintest mockery of a bitter grin.

“Four billion years roughly speaking. That is a long time for us as well.”

Startled gasps through the crowd as they chewed over that. If four billion was correct, these giants had been here longer than the humans themselves. If that was so, were they still technically aliens? People started to talk among themselves and the Autobots were content with that, waiting patiently in case there were any other questions. The man in charge clapped his hands together and got everyone's attention to direct them toward the emergency rations and water stored in the basement of one of the less damaged buildings. A few went for those while everyone else stayed seated or leaning against something. 

Conversing with several humans, Prowl nodded before coming back to Optimus. “We need to speak with the government in charge of this territory. I have found a way to contact them.”

“Excellent. It is important we do that soon.” nodded the big blue and red mech seriously before finishing with much quieter sarcasm “I'm sure it will go smoothly.”

Prowl's mouth twitched at the subtle snark but he chose instead to gesture at the vehicles Ironhide had pointed out. “Alternative modes are important and it is paramount that those who can, get them quickly.” Humming in agreement, the Autobot leader took slow steps toward the parking lot, careful not to startle the organics. The lot was tucked behind the farthest building and had survived most of the damage, only the cars on the edge of it having been destroyed. Finding the only vehicle mode big enough for him, Optimus scanned the semi truck and transformed to test his new form. 

Bumblebee sighed, getting up from talking with the humans to explain, “Some of us have vehicle modes. Be right back.” He found a small yellow car that was roughly his size and copied Optimus before plodding back.

“Whoah! How did you do that? How come the others aren't doing it?” The boy who'd introduced himself as Samuel but preferred the nickname Spike asked excitedly. 

Grinning, Bumblebee tried to explain. “Cybertronians almost always have more than one form. Some of us have a beast form, like wildlings, and can't pick a vehicle mode.” He pointed to the Twins who were hanging at the edge of the crowd. Sideswipe was chattering animatedly with some humans who looked very confused. “Those are the Twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They, Mirage, and Prowl are Wildlings, which means they already have a specific secondary form and can't change it.”

“What do they look like?” Spike questioned immediately while the secretary added, “And what about the others?”

Laughing at the curiosity, Bumblebee hunted for the right words, “I'm...not sure how to translate what the Twins beast form is. There's no word for it. Prowl's looks a bit like your sphinxes though. Mirage is kinda like what you call a unicorn. But there are some big differences.” Chuckling again at their dumbstruck expressions, he turned to yell at the red minibot sitting a few yards away. He was poking at the the wound on his shoulder. “Hey Cliffjumper! I can't find the right translation for your subspecies. Any luck?”

“Nah. I already looked.” The short mech sulkily huffed. 

The humans shrugged at one another, not sure how to help. Spike's father seemed to have an idea, “Why don't you pronounce it in your language? Just to let us hear it.”

“Alright.” And then Bee made a strange high-pitched sound ringed with ultrasonic whistles. Startled, the human's eyes widened and a few automatically made moves to cover their ears. After some seconds of silence, Spike tried to repeat it as much as his vocals would allow, face scrunched in concentration.

“It sounded sorta like Vak-nah? Veh-k-nah?” 

A few nods. What the mech had said wasn't anywhere close to that but it was similar enough sounding. Bumblebee tilted his horned helm, “Vekna works.”

“But what is a vekna?” Insisted the mechanic. 

A thoughtful hum. “Well, they can't have a vehicle mode either because of their secondary form. But they usually look like earth lizards but bigger....”

“Not like those dragons from before!?” One of the humans exclaimed in worry.

“No no! Vekna are rarely that big! And they're built differently than crystal dragons. Vekna have different shapes, like some have short and squat legs while others have longer necks. And they're made of crystal and metal. Many aren't even the same type of crystal. Plus, only a few have glider wings. Nothing like those seekers from before.”

“What are seekers?” Spike asked, now lost. Bumblebee slumped in frustration. Trying to answer simple questions was hard. 

“A specific type of crystal dragon. They're very fast and sleek.”

It got quiet as the humans tried to process all the new information. Bumblebee could see the next question coming and gestured at Optimus to come over. “Hey Prime. How would you translate what you are?”

“Good question Bumblebee.” Settling in a fairly large empty space, the big mech put his chin on a palm and accessed the internet. “Hmm....siren? That word had two meanings though, so perhaps I used it wrong.”

Spike's father gave him a strange look, “Siren as in fish ladies that lured people to death with song?”

“Optimus! You're doing it wrong! What are you doing telling the humans we're like their monsters?! They'll think we're going to hurt them!” Working himself into a fine state, Mirage stared at their leader like he'd grown a second head. Prowl's low voice of reason startled the white and blue mech. 

“You are yelling at our Prime.”

A jolt. Pale optics widened before Mirage stiffened and lowered his helm, “My apologies Optimus Prime. I did not intend to react so strongly.”

“No offense taken Mirage,” Optimus replied easily, knowing how prickly the karkadann could get over reputations, “Perhaps you could help us translate?”

Bumblebee turned back to the crowd of humans who had watched the entire debate silently, “What Optimus is, they sing. Really really well. But there's nothing to do with fish, whatever those are, or people dying.”

“Siren....could fit then, I suppose.” Admitted the mechanic gruffly, rubbing the back of his head.

“He doesn't sing often.” Sunstreaker tossed in, blithely ignoring the look Optimus gave him, “But you can't hide that kind of charisma.”

Thankfully for the Prime, Sideswipe was tired of just standing at the sidelines and spoke up, asking the humans closest to him something. However, it sounded like a different language. The humans looked at each other and then stared at him. One person very hesitantly raised a hand to get his attention, “Do you ah..... speak English?”

“That sounds like German.” A man whispered to the guy next to him. Unaware or uncaring of the glances he was getting, Sideswipe continued speaking quickly, a huge smile on his face even at the lack of replies. Prowl pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply.

“You were supposed to download English. That is the common language for this area. Why did you not do so?”

Another reply. This one went from German to Welsh to something else that no one knew. Disbelieving, Bumblebee questioned the golden twin. “Did he download every language but English?”

“Wouldn't surprise me.” A weary sigh. 

“Sideswipe.” Prowl had had enough of the antics. Or perhaps the huge smug grin on Sideswipe's face was annoying him. “One language. One sentence. Answer. Why?”

A quick German reply. Bee snickered and Spike tapped his knee with a light finger, “What did he say?” However, the man standing next to him spoke up first, apparently understanding German.

“He said it sounded cooler.”

A few chuckles. The humans were starting to relax around the newcomers. This had been Sideswipe's plan from the start. His grin widened even more when Prowl plugged in to his arm port to give him the download and realized the language was already there. The SIC's optics narrowed to dangerous slits. Innocent and cheerful wide optics stared back. 

“There.” Prowl pulled out, playing along to the red hellion's act, “You should have no trouble speaking from now on.” It was stated a little more harshly than usual but that could have easily been attributed to his obvious annoyance.

Clasping his hands behind his back, every inch of an honest mech, Sideswipe replied in flawless English, “Thanks Prowl.”

Optimus rolled his optics at them and fluffed his armor, resettling the plates to help with the ache in his wounds. Dark brown eyes noticed. Clearing his throat, the mechanic stepped up to the seated giant and studied the glowing liquid that seeped over metal. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I'm fine.” Surprised anyone had inquired, the big mech was thrown off his game for a moment, “These are light wounds. What is your name?”

The man studied Optimus for a moment before answering slowly, “Chris Lawrence Witwicky.”

“The guys at the shop call him Sparkplug.” Spike yelled, grinning widely when his father gave him a frank look. “We're mechanics.”

“You're a junior mechanic.” Sparkplug replied shortly, ignoring Spike's grumbled protest and chuckles from those listening. 

“Sparkplug. Thank you.” Optimus dipped his head.

Frowning, the mechanic turned his attention away from his son in puzzlement, “What for? I haven't done anything.”

“Inquiring. And for not running away. I'm honestly surprised any of you stayed to listen to us after the harm the Decepticons caused.” The last part was directed toward the entire crowd. Several people smiled tiredly, content to just sit, drink water, and not move until they had to. Others were excitedly crowding around the bots in watchful and timid interest. While Prowl and Mirage hung back to avoid the scrutiny, Cliffjumper, the Twins, and Bumblebee answered questions as fast as they could and asked just as many back. 

“Yeah well, this planet tends to be weird.” Explained Sparkplug wisely. He held out a hand and showed Optimus how to shake as a greeting. “Welcome to Earth.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manticore: A large four-legged wildling with a cat-like body and large bat wings. They have several rows of teeth, spit fire, and shoot poisoned quills from their tails. Most prefer the warm desert areas of Cybertron where they can bask in the sun undisturbed. 
> 
> Crystal Dragon: Self explanatory. Duh. While they can not breathe fire like their earth versions, they are still very deadly. Even though these crystal beings appear delicate, they are incredibly hard to wound and their skin is usually as hard as diamond. Each is made of their own unique combination of crystals and minerals and it reflects in their coloring. With shards for teeth and a long tail that can slice a mech in half, the crystal dragons are not to be messed with. There are several different types of crystal dragon, the most well known of those being the sleek and slightly smaller group known as seekers. 
> 
> Sylph: Always small in stature, Sylphs are sometimes known as “Guiding Spirits.” They have an uncanny ability to see traps ahead of time, have a second sense for how to escape mazes, and never get lost. They often help those who are. Usually friendly, these beings tend to be light in color and are sometimes difficult to see in full sunlight. Double wings give them speed and that makes them very hard to catch in the air.
> 
> Vekna: Lizard-like in appearance with scaled armor, vekna have crystal clusters that grow around and in place of their scales. They often live near rocky plateaus where there are lots of caves for them to explore and open space for gliding. Some vekna have crystalline glider wings and because of this, are believed to be distantly related to crystalline dragons. Said dragons refuse to believe such nonsense. Generally, vekna are quite curious about everything and are adventurous. Like crystal dragons and basilisks, they need to consume many minerals and powders to remain healthy.
> 
> Siren: While they do not possess another form besides the vehicle mode they choose, siren's do have a small glamour that allows them to be among others without immediately drawing attention. When that glamour is dropped, it is impossible for others to not focus on the siren. They also have high levels of charisma and are widely known as the best singers on Cybertron (and throughout the universe, some insist). Their songs can be used to send people into a trance, but are rarely used that way.


	5. Static Tension

They were all out to get him. He was sure they'd turned it into a game. Who could do the most annoying and ridiculous stunt to make Red Alert snap?

Well, he wouldn't. No sir. Like Pit he'd just let them get what they wanted from him, a show, a spectacle. Besides, an officer should never lose his cool like that. Not unless the world was actually ending. Or everyone else refused to listen when there was an emergency. He had a job to get done, it had to be finished as soon as possible, and having a meltdown would just waste time. 

“Are yah sure yah can't take a small break? Yah look pretty frazzled Red.”

Gritting his denta, Red Alert focused on the camera he was installing up in the ceiling panels of the main hall. Since he was too short to reach by himself, he'd “volunteered” Grapple to help him. Now, crouched on the yellow mech's shoulders, he just wished Jazz would take his well-meaning intentions and shove them. Or go talk to someone else. The security director was trying to focus!

Since the crash they had absolutely no security. None. The front door wouldn't even close properly. It was driving him mad. 

Not only did he have to fix the few surviving cameras but he had to make more from spare parts, get the sensor net up and running, set up wards surrounding their base (and wasn't that tricky with it being stuck in the mountain!), scope out the back of the base, map the caverns for potential back doors, set curses on the entrances, and clean up the vents so grates could be installed. And a ton of smaller but still necessary repairs waited as well. Until all of those tedious and extensive jobs were finished, the Decepticons could easily break in. Not to mention Soundwave's little creeps. Those glitches could practically march right into the base with no one the wiser!

The front door not closing was driving him up the wall. And he was exhausted. But he had to get everything done. Now.

“Jazz. I am busy. In case you hadn't noticed.” The red and white mech growled lowly, giving the bot an evil eye. 

Grimacing like he had expected that, Jazz sighed. Shorter than Red by a few inches even with his helm horns, the black and white shifted to lean on one leg. Blue and red stripes decorated his frame, the new headlights and tires revealing the earth alt mode he'd taken a liking too. When the security director continued to ignore him in favor of finishing the installation of the camera, his cyan blue visor lightened with a flash of white before returning to normal. Some people were just being stubborn today. That was alright. Jazz knew how to handle stubbornness. 

“Why not let me an' Inferno handle this while yah take a break? When was the last tahm yah recharged? Doc's gonna skin ya livin'-”

“Shut up Jazz!” A furious and loud snarl. Electricity crackled between Red's horns, snapping out of his optics to dance across his upper cheek plates. Grapple, currently pretending to be a ladder and therefore invisible, froze silently. Jazz's lips tightened into a frustrated pout. Still facing the ceiling, Red Alert's voice grew louder. “I am working! I will rest when I'm sure the base isn't completely defenseless. Now if you will please stop making that job harder by dividing my attentions, I would be most grateful!”

Softly, the spec-ops replied slowly, “Hound is guardin' the door. Yah know nothin' will get past him. Half 'n hour won't hurt none and yah look ready to crack.”

Silence. Mute fury scrolled across silver face plates as the exhausted mech slowly looked down. Anyone else would have taken several steps back, especially after flickers of lightning glittered along Red's arms like shimmering ribbons. But not the head of special operations. No, the shock wouldn't kill Jazz and he knew it. Actually, Red Alert didn't think any of them knew how to kill Jazz. Shouldn't they know that? Just in case-

No. Bad thoughts. He was tired and he needed to focus. 

Without another word, Red Alert turned back to the project at hand, acting as if the conversation hadn't even happened. It was easier to deal with if he didn't think about it. Finished, he politely requested Grapple set him down. He'd barely put his feet on the floor when shouts and the sound of running reached their audios. 

Bluestreak and Bumblebee burst around the corner, both in their altmodes. Loping up quickly, Bluestreak transformed and halfheartedly saluted the officers before diving in quickly as Bumblebee landed behind him and pulled on his glamour. “Hey Jazz, Grapple. Hello Red Alert. There's something outside you should see. They're not alive, we can tell, we're not that stupid. But someone put faces on them and it looks weird but kinda silly.”

“Someone set up something outside that's funny and we thought you might want to come see.” Bumblebee explained with an easy smile. 

“Yeah! Because you've been so serious lately and a laugh will do you good.” The grey mech added. 

Jazz grinned brightly. “Well, that sounds like somethin' ah should check out. Good luck finishin' the cameras Red.” His expression stuck and became tense when the red and white mech flashed his teeth in warning and set a stern hand on Jazz's shoulder, moving past him at a quick trot. 

“Oh no. What exactly has faces on it? You two show me right now.” 

While Jazz face-palmed behind the mech and shared a miserable look with Grapple, the two younger bots visibly dimmed their enthusiasm. Bumblebee fidgeted, “Uh well, we don't know what they're supposed to be..... why don't we just lead the way?”

Taking the grim expression on the taller mech's face as an answer, Bluestreak and Bee quickly retreated back the way they came. Jazz followed after and quietly motioned for Grapple to disappear while the opportunity was there. With a grateful nod, the architect vanished down the halls before he could be roped into any more impromptu ladder impersonations. 

The group of four made their way outside, grey clouds being pushed along steadily by winds above. Most of them waved at Hound as he stood guard. The Guardian was in his natural form, crouched by the door with his thick lizard tail draped elegantly over his front paws and head and tusks held at a rest position with his mouth partially open. Empty pits for eyes lit with a blue flame to stare at them as they passed before disappearing. Hound was one of the only ones allowed to nap on the job, still being alert enough to guard even as he rested. 

Red Alert stomped forward, following the younger mechs who were starting to giggle as they turned away from the main entrance and slid down a small hill to stop in front of a line of ….. things. 

“What are these?” He demanded to know. 

Not being familiar with human materials, he didn't know what popsicle sticks were. Nor did he need to. It was obvious that the small wooden sticks stuck in the ground in a wavering line with googly eyes and faces on them were the result of someone having too much free time on their hands. He ignored Jazz's loudly amused cackle, snickers coming from the other two. Red thought the eyes fixed to stare up at them in exaggerated expression were creepy. Twigs had been glued to the sides as imitation limbs. Some were smiling. Several looking mockingly horrified, as if they'd realized they were tiny breakable objects about to be stepped on. The tired mech resisted the temptation to do just that. Stomp the entire line of stupid things into the damp earth and then make who ever had set this up clean the mess because Red was that close to shoving everyone in the brig just to get some quiet to finish his job. 

The brig was on the far side of the base and very much sound proof. Or it should be. One way to test that.....

No. Nope. Focus. Besides, he couldn't order Optimus and the higher ranking officers in the brig and the Prime wouldn't let him put everyone else in there. 

Letting out a sigh, he turned to Bluestreak and Bumblebee. “Cute.”

“You don't think it's funny.” Pouting, the silver mech's door wing panels drooped. “Someone put a lot of effort into this.”

“And they can spend a lot of effort cleaning it up.” A quick reply. If he trusted more people with the security systems, then they'd be helping. But most of the idiots on base couldn't do his job, so they had time to spare for ridiculous shenanigans like these while Red Alert has worked down to the struts trying to keep them all alive. The only thing others could really do was map out the caverns which they were already working on. Perhaps he could go get Grapple again and have him and Hoist repair the front door. He could check it later, couldn't he? After he took a break?

Exchanging looks, the younger mechs inched backward. Red Alert waved a servo, “Shoo. I know you two didn't do this.” He could tell when they'd been up to something. Guilt was always obvious on their faces and missing at this instant. “But stick around if you want to help clean this up.”

Wobbly smiles. And then they bolted back inside the base. Rolling his optics, Red Alert followed at a slower pace with Jazz at his side. Blue visor tilting, Jazz wheedled plaintively, “Admit it's a lil cute.”

He was favored with a deadpan look. 

Jazz grimaced. Someone really needed a break. Trying to convince Red to relax, he worked with a different tact. “We already got mechs mappin' out the tunnels at the back ah the base. An' ah'll send more bots to keep Hound company. Ah'll even stay out there with 'em if yah take a half hour nap-”

“Jazz.”

“Yeah Red?”

Stepping out of the ambient light and into the metal halls of the Ark, lit by dim yellow bulbs until they could spare more energon to better lighting, Red stated quietly, “Dead people are quiet.”

“Um....” The Porshe struggled with answering that, “Not really. It depends on what kind of dead. Because ah've talked to some who are really really chatty.” Red Alert paused enough to give him a cold sidelong look. “Oh. Right. Gotcha.”

They remained silent for the rest of the way, Jazz trying to figure out how to get Red Alert to take a break because Ratchet told him to make it happen, he didn't care how, and the other mech plotting ways to get rid of his annoying shadow without actually ordering him because he couldn't and Jazz rarely listened to orders anyways. Actually,..... if the mech was going to insist on following him around then he could at the very least help Red Alert. As head of special ops, Jazz was going to familiarize himself with the security system anyways (Red wasn't stupid. He knew the mech left and snuck into the base unannounced quite often), so they could both get work done. They just needed to do something first.

Striding into the rec room, he marched straight towards Prowl seated at the back, a mess of whole and broken datapads and a barely touched energon cube around him. Until they unearthed the other half of the tactician's office, he was forced to do his work elsewhere. Shaking off the wave of sympathy at the broken pads, Red sat down next to the Praxian with his back to the wall. He knew transferring the information onto working datapads took quite a while. Still being ignored, Jazz took a seat on the other side. The general murmuring and chatter of the few mechs on break weren't bothersome but Red still rubbed at the base of his audios where a helm-ache was beginning. 

“Our energon reserves are higher than expected, with a small number of solar panels now installed outside. More are being set up.” Prowl jumped right into the conversation with no warning, already knowing what the other mech wanted to discuss. Pale yellow optics flickered across the pale blue light of the screens as he multi-tasked. “We should be able to wake Perceptor from stasis now. I just need to speak with Optimus and inquire into whether we can awake anyone else.”

“Good. I need his expertise and the sensor net up as soon as possible.” An agreeable hum from Red. 

The pair ignored Jazz not-so-subtly nudge the cube toward Prowl and sigh in exasperation when it wasn't touched. Setting his elbows on the table with his palms together, Red went over his mental checklist. 

“I have the basic number of cameras in the halls of the main floor. Upper floor is mostly destroyed at this point and still off limits so I won't do more than seal it off until later. I would like to get at least two cameras in the halls of the lower floors for now. FOR NOW.” He insisted loudly when Prowl and Jazz started to protest. “I will get that done at the very least before I rest. If you could send Grapple and Hoist to repair the main door when they can, that would be wonderful and I'll check it later.”

“I believe Hoist is on break and recharging. I'll have them there within the hour. How goes the wards?” Interrupted from his work by Jazz holding the energon cube between his face and the datapads, Prowl finally took it and started to drink. 

A snort of disgust burst from Red Alert, louder than he'd meant it to be. “Most of the base is under the mountain. At this point, I'm considering warding the whole slagging thing.”

“We can get Grapple to set a bindin' tah the ward, bury link charms in'a circle.” Jazz suggested, obviously now pleased that he'd at least made some headway with one of the two workaholics. “It's gonna hafta be big 'cause it'sa mountain, I get that, but we've done it before. Like with Aolin-Five.”

“It is not a bad idea.” Conceded Prowl, finishing his drink because he knew he wouldn't be allowed to focus until he did. 

Setting it aside, he fixed an unnerving stare at their security director. One doorwing twitched, the only sign of concern as he took in Red's state. “I'm aware the network hub has a large amount of work needed as well, but you will have an easier time of it if you rest.”

Before an argument of epic proportions could start, (and when Red Alert and Prowl got into it, it turned loud fast) several mechs burst into the rec room. At first it looked like they were trying to stop each other from moving forward, but then the officers realized the three were trying to stay ahead of each other without actually looking like they were moving in a hurry. They all failed. 

The Twins were clearly the most upset, armor flared out and clawed hands clenching repeatedly. Their normally blue optics had taken on a violet tinge. Gears, by comparison, was fairly mellow. He managed to get to the table first. “Sir, it's not my job to fix people's curses every time someone is stupid enough to get cursed. Otherwise, I'd never have time for anything else. Not that there's anything else to do around here.”

“Someone cursed us!” Sideswipe exclaimed, trying to tell his part before anyone could make a decision. “Look at this!” 

He gave a turn and gestured at his back. There were several glittery and glowing decals there, each with a neatly written glyph describing highly offensive insults. Using a nail to catch the corner of one, he pulled it off. It burst into dust in his hand. The frontliner turned around with a grim expression and pointed at the same sticker that was now attached to his cheek. It twinkled and glittered even brighter than it had before. “I've tried to take them off. They just move!”

Behind his brother, Sunstreaker growled lowly. It was a deep rumble, belonging to something much bigger than the frame it came from. The mech opened his mouth to try and say something but the words were garbled beyond comprehension when tiny white feathers spat out. His mouth closed, then opened again and this time long brown striped feathers pushed past his lips to spill onto the table and floor. A few snickers came from the other mechs in the room but no one dared glance up as Sunny gave them all a harsh glare. He was very much looking for an excuse to start a fight.

“Tell Gears to help us!” Sideswipe whined, looking to Prowl for justice. 

Red Alert clamped his armor down, the red brother's annoying voice scratching at him and making the helm-ache worse. Black servos clenched into fists. He struggled not to react. Why couldn't they all just be quiet?!

The minibot rolled his optics and raised an optic ridge, sure that Prowl would defend his side. Unfortunately for the cursed frontliners, the officer did. With a sigh, Prowl waved a servo at Gears, “He is not required to help you.”

“But he's a curse worker!” Stomping his foot, Sideswipe looked incredulous. His twin merely fixed a wide and frigid optic on the minibot, the way a predator sights suddenly elusive prey. 

Chevron dipping in agreement, Prowl nodded, “He is. However, he is not required to give aid in breaking curses unless a life is at risk. Go to the medbay. Ratchet will surely have something to rid you of them.”

The wildling twins visibly fluffed their armor, growls echoing under their words as Sides argued, “He'll just kick us out.” 

Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up. Do what Prowl said and just stop talking! Red Alert gave a subsonic rumble, not noticed under the noise except by Jazz. The visored mech's frown grew more pronounced. 

“I'll comm him.” Straightening his stack of pads, the black and white continued smoothly, “And afterward, you will scout the terrain south of base. It has yet to be explored.” That would give the mech's time to cool down and expend their energy productively without harming anyone. Looking ready to put up a fight about the decision, the Twins slowly nodded. Sunstreaker's lips curled into a silent snarl. Turning without a word, they transformed and raced from the room, too quick for their beast forms to actually be glimpsed well. Only Sunstreaker's bushy tail was visible in the doorway as they disappeared farther into base. 

With that settled, Prowl scrutinized Gears before stating quietly, “I do believe you are supposed to be helping Wheeljack set up more solar panels outside.'

“I was on my way there. Got waylaid.” The red and blue mini protested huffily with a quieter mutter, “Outside is awful anyways. Looks like it's about to rain. And mud is annoying. Gets everywhere under my plating. Why does earth have to be so blasted muddy?”

A servo visibly twitched, sparks growing brighter and larger between the security director's horns. 

Gears' optics widened, suddenly noticing Red Alert and the silently enraged expression upon his faceplates. Jazz quickly took over the conversation. “Well, don't wanna keep 'Jack waitin'. Best get goin'.”

“Right.” Nodding too much, the short mech agreed and quickly left before anything exploded. Jazz and Prowl collectively turned to Red Alert. Said bot narrowed his optics at them. It was very quiet. The few mechs off duty were watching them. It didn't help the red and white mech's nerves. Jazz snickered, trying to break the tension. 

“Well,” he offered a large grin, “I'd say the Twins got what they deserved. What for I dunno but that was funny.” Red didn't particularly care. Perhaps if he weren't is such a mood he would have found amusement in the incident but at the moment, he was too aggravated over the interruption. A stiff silence fell.

“No.” Red stated harshly. 

Prowl sighed, doorwings quivering and rising an inch or so, “Perhaps-”

“NO.”

“Okay.” Jazz tacked on, impervious to the death glare he was getting. 

Reaching up to rub his audios where a very pronounced and steadily getting worse ache was brewing, Red Alert dropped his voice to a low croak, “Can everyone please just stop talk-”

His helm whipped around, tilting up as a sound caught his attention. It was distant, a low boom and rumble that could easily be mistaken for cannon fire. But Red Alert could always tell the difference. And he could always hear thunder long before anyone else could. It was a specialty of his. Unthinking, the mech straightened and listened harder. Prowl started to look alarmed. 

“Red Alert, what is it?”

A second sound. This one louder and everyone could heart it. Jazz tilted his helm as the thunder rumbled moodily above their heads, skies sounding their warning for anyone unwary of the dark clouds that had gathered during the last few hours. A smile crept across the two black and white's faces as Red Alert continued to be distracted. Giving them a huff, he finally snapped. “Fine.”

Raising an optic ridge, Prowl awaited a more detailed answer. Red Alert glowered. They already knew what he was talking about. “Fine. I will take a break. And then I'm finishing the cameras below main deck and THEN I will recharge. You can tell that to Ratchet.” He nodded at Jazz dismissively.

“Throwin' me intah the slaughter mech.” Faking a hit to the spark, the TIC dramatically flopped against the table. 

He was ignored save for two identical optic rolls before Prowl nodded and the security director rose to leave. If there was a storm, it was unlikely the Decepticons would attack. And even if they tried, Red would see them coming miles ahead of time and be able to defend the base better outside. Few things were as dangerous as a raiju during a thunderstorm. 

Once again leaving base, Red saw mechs pulling out some tarps for a makeshift shelter to keep the rain off Hound who was still guarding the door. He passed Beachcomber settling himself on the hillside. Not surprising. That one loved water and they hadn't yet had time to make a run to the nearby ocean yet. Perhaps they could set up a pool inside the base for certain mechs in case they were blockaded in for awhile? Something to think about in the long run. For now, the storm was more important. 

The sky had grown furiously dark, clouds slowly pushing forward and an odd light was cast on the forested mountain as the sunlight was forced to come in from the North. Everything felt tense, as if the world was holding it's breathe and hunkering down before one of nature's dangerous wonders ripped apart the sky. A warm crisp wind whistled over Red Alert's plating as he sat down next to a nearby boulder and just watched the tree branches dance for a moment. Venting deeply, he retracted his armor and stepped out of the false body.

A creature made entirely of electricity hopped delicately down onto the grass, singeing the wet blades. Similar to an earth fox but just a bit larger, the raiju yawned, upturned ears quivering as his paws flexed. The illusion of fur created out of branched lightning rippled as he crouched. 

In a single jump, Red Alert was high in the air. Jagged leaps led him up to the swirling mass of grey. Thunder rocked the skyworld, streaks of light flashing about with increasing frequency. 

Red bound through the clouds, dropping lower see the land stretch out for miles. Trees lashed in the wind, rain flattening the plants and darkening the ground. Another strike, close to his flank, made him give off a loud yip of excitement and a thunderclap answered as if the storm were inviting him to play. 

Racing through the clouds, the raiju jumped and danced, a quick flick of his feet becoming an agile jump. Wind pushed them along steadily. He chased lightning by the tail, dashing almost too quickly to be seen, and form almost losing it's shape as he moved. Scents of water and air coated his senses, exciting him until lightning crackled from his hide and splayed from mouth. Yips and thunder became a staccato heartbeat. It pulsed and roared, making Red quiver in his core as he played in the thunderstorm. 

Clouds swirled, taking on a curved path and twining in on themselves. Red Alert tumbled through the sky for quite some time before the storm started to move past the base. Leaving the clouds behind, he pranced lower and tried to land on the closest object. The top of the large pine easily supported his weight. 

But it did not take to his element well. Even as his claws sank into the bark, electricity followed his path down from above and struck the tree with a loud crack, blackening it. 

With a startled yelp, Red Alert immediately jumped to the closest available spot. That being another pine tree, the same thing happened, only this time it was he who burned it, intense heat crackling from his hide to scorch his perch. Realizing he needed a new tactic, the raiju turned and jumped toward stone this time. 

Landing gracefully, tiny sparks flickering off of his paws as he sat, Red settled himself on the boulder and turned his head up to watch the last of the storm rumble past. That had been fun and relaxing. The ache that had plagued him was long gone and the exhaustion pushed away by being in his element. It would come back, soon undoubtedly, but it would give him time to finish the cameras. 

Gazing at the rain and windswept mountainside, Red Alert swished his tail, a sudden idea catching on as he looked down at the boulder he knelt on. Ears perked up. The muzzled face turned toward other stones scattered here and there along the mountainside. 

Perhaps, they wouldn't have to bury link charms all around the mountain. The boulders were already there. Not only were they tied to the mountain itself, saving them a step, but they would make a far stronger ward. Getting Ironhide to help with the stone and Grapple to carve the right symbols, the base could be safe behind a protection ward in no time at all. Pleased with the idea, Red stretched, lightning leaping out to burst upon the rock with tiny pops like miniature explosions. Triangular ears swiveled as Wheeljack and Gears trekked by him from farther up. Wheeljack was quite cheerful as he rested and elbow on the stone. 

“Hey Red Alert. Ratchet mentioned you were a raiju, so I figured you were out here. We finished the rest of the panels by the way.” Audio fins flashed brightly, although not quite as optic blinding as Red's true form was.

Gears apparently didn't have the inventor's enthusiasm for aggressive weather, “It wasn't easy with all that rain coming down. And look, mud, just like I said.”

“Thank you for finishing.”

Nodding in appreciation, the security director's voice was thinner than it usually was, quick and sharp. Wheeljack shrugged, seemingly pleased with the thanks. “Did you have fun up there? I'll admit it's been awhile since I saw a lightning elemental during a storm. Safety hazards and all that, you know?”

Red gave off a trilling yip of laughter, knowing what Wheeljack meant. Sometimes raiju made storms bigger and the possibility of spectators being struck was always there. “It was nice. Although I learned something.”

The other two looked at him questioningly as he gave a dismissive tail flick. 

“Trees are not good places to land on.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curse Workers: One of the few subspecies that do not fit into the five categories, there is debate over curse workers being mentalists or otherkin. While they use their minds to create curses, they also use physical tools and their own servos to affect reality. Curse workers specialize in creating or breaking curses. Slightly less common, is someone who is proficient at both. While other species can break and make simple curses, rarely can they do as good a job or create as complex ones as a curse worker. They do not have a specific alternative form and usually require vehicle modes. Their abilities and options with curses are only limited by their own skill and as such, should never be underestimated. 
> 
> Raiju: Lightning Elemental. Raiju true forms often look like a four-legged beast similar to a canid but smaller, thinner and with a narrower muzzle. Their tails are usually much bigger though. They are not bound to that shape and can make themselves smaller or larger if there is a great deal of electricity around them. Always stirred up when a storm is about, raiju are often spotted playing in clouds and thunderheads until the weather calms.


	6. Star Cries and Lullabies

It took a lot of convincing, mainly because Optimus was terribly shy. 

The mechs weren't sure why. He was a siren, so he could obviously sing. What was there to be embarrassed about? Many of the others would gladly show off their skills (or lack thereof with great cheer) when it came to song. But not the Prime. Unfortunately for the big blue and red mech, Ratchet and Ironhide cornered him and finally persuaded him that it would boost morale. 

Which was getting better but was still generally low. Stranded on an alien planet with Decepticons and limited energon reserves was never fun. But at least their base was somewhat presentable now!

Agreeing hesitantly, Optimus had let others spread the news of the performance instead of making an announcement. Give him a battle, a diplomatic meeting of leaders, or a speech to deliver to his mechs, and while none of those were pleasant to deal with, he could handle it. But ask him to sing and he turned into a nervous youngling performing in front of an audience for the first time. 

Of course everyone had to show up. When was the last time any of them had heard a siren? They crowded into the rec room just before eight pm to rearrange the furniture, pulling the chairs into a a rough arc and dragging in other stationary objects to sit on since there were not enough seats. Brawn helped Inferno carry in several crates and barrels while others just settled in alt modes and their natural forms. Spike and his father joined as well, sitting with Bumblebee near the front. They'd been told repeatedly that this performance was not something to be missed. 

At the hour, Optimus uncomfortably walked in with Ironhide at his heels. Narrowing his optics at the silent crowd with hopeful expressions, he gave Ironhide the Look. And only got a slight smirk in return. Unlike many of the other mechs, Ironhide was impervious to the Look, especially when he knew he hadn't actually disappointed his friend. 

“I'll get you for this later.” Huffing quietly, Optimus rolled his optics and went to take the single seat left by the wall and in the center of attention. The scarred red mech had the audacity to laugh, a deep scratchy and rumbled noise.

“I know yah will.”

With everyone settled, the leader looked to Blaster. Being just a few inches under the the Twin's height, the red and yellow mech was tall but somewhat skinny with a broad flat chestplate. Two protrusions flared from either side of his helm with a narrowed visor-like plate just above his forehead. He sat on the table closest to Prime, apparently content with not having a really comfortable position.

Two toned optics the same colors as his paint job watched the Autobot leader, and when Optimus nodded at him, he smiled and started tapping the flat of his palms against his thighs. A deep hollow noise like a gong started slow and picked up speed. Closing his optics, Optimus' battle mask retreated. 

It served a double purpose of also keeping his voice normal and less attention-grabbing. Letting his mind fall into the beat, he took a deep vent and opened his mouth. 

A soft litany started, words without meaning falling from his lips. They grew louder and splintered, several notes and tones soaring up. All but the song drifted away. It seemed like the universe itself paused to listen. Blaster's drumming stopped when the harmonious song grew louder, filling the room and expanding. A chorus of deep and lighter voices twined in operatic symphony. It reached higher, urgency and emotion winding through their audios.

Optimus tilted his helm back, the song the only thing that mattered. Had ever mattered. People and places were trivial and easily forgotten, mere specks to the primal vastness of galaxies. It pushed away all other thoughts. Optimus Prime faded from existence as pure unending music from the void billowed forth like the rising of wings. His vocalizer strained, chords beneath his plating quivering as all defenses shattered and the universe sang. 

Dying suns thrummed with the beat of their last flares. Power amassed, rolling in tides to accompany the lilting violin shrills of cold stars and blazing supernovas. A thousand melodic voices rose in tandem, making people shiver down to their armor. It was love and sorrow, haunting regret and immeasurable joy. 

Low wails and shimmering echoes cried as if the stars themselves were giving out their last discordant call, the bot's sparks crying back in response.

Sound quickened and reached it's climax, holding for an impossibly long time. It felt as if their sparks had frozen in their chests. The humans in the audience stopped breathing. 

Slowly, the music quieted. It scattered pieces of itself, losing the chorus and orchestra to single sounds until all that remained was the Optimus' deep bass fading out to silence. No one moved. Many an optic was shut, audios straining to hear more when none would come. Air filled the human's lungs as they remembered to breath. The father and son were startled to find they'd been crying, salt water sliding over their cheeks. Any mechs with wings or panel sensors had them raised and quivering. Eventually someone moved. Armor creaked and plating rustled as people stretched. Wrung out emotionally, many slumped down in their seating. Optimus shook himself with content, plating fluffing out before settling as he opened his optics. 

First one, then another started clapping. It built until everyone was whooping and cheering loudly, appreciation obvious. It sounded harsh after such a performance but no less wonderful. Optimus rubbed at his sore vocal chords and smiled before snapping his mask back into place. Jazz jumped up to throw himself at the bigger bot for a hug. Bumblebee followed, latching onto his arm. Several others came over to join in while mechs laughed and yelled happily. Optimus chuckled and returned the hugs.  
.  
.

Deep in the darkness of heated stones below, something stirred. Song called to it. A lullaby crooned it's shadowed conscious away from the heavy lethargy of deep rest. 

But being cradled in the warmth of the underground fires was too much and it fell back to a dreaming slumber.


	7. Roads To Be Taken

The brisk and chilled air of morning was a welcome relief to the coming heat of day. With the spring season ending, the bots had quickly found that Oregon became hot and dry when the sun was up. 

There had been grumbling from the afternoon patrols hoping to switch with night or morning shifts until Prowl stepped in to fix the schedule so everyone had a turn at each. Even Optimus joined in, although that was probably so he could take a break and get out of his office. And so Ratchet wouldn't come after him. Hell had no wrath like a medic whose advice was ignored. Especially if that medic was their one and only snarky ambulance. 

Tires flying over the frosted ground, Jazz took great joy in kicking up dust and sage. He may not have been built for off road, but there was something just fun about no roads and endless possibilities. The black and white mech made a mental note to thank their Tactician later even though he knew the morning shift wasn't a gift and he'd have to take afternoon tomorrow. Nah, he needed to thank Prowl for who he got to drive with today. 

Most of the time he was put with more temper-prone bot, ones who didn't settle well with other driving partners. He was good at handling their more jagged personality edges and he kept them entertained. 

Who didn't love the Jazz-Meister? But sometimes he needed a break. And Hoist was calm and patient enough to deal with his antics which left Jazz happy and able to run. The green tow truck kept up as he accelerated and sharply turned as he hit a small rise, spinning into the air before landing on the other side with a loud 'whooomp!'. Small critters went scrambling and disappeared into holes and brush. It was still fairly dark out but light enough that they didn't need their headlights, stars peppering the sky faintly. Bouncing on his tires, he partially turned,“Whooo! Did you see that!?”

“Impressive.” Hoist chuckled, content to follow the more adventurous mech as they rolled along the barely-visible path. 

Not that it was truly a trail. More like a dirt track that was nearly invisible winding through the scrublands. It headed South-East before joining state route twenty which eventually led to Bend City. Jazz and Hoist would pass the other patrol there before finishing their part and heading back to base for a break. Or in their case, helping in the repair bay on the never ending list of work to be done for Hoist and Jazz doing everything he could to avoid actual responsibility and paperwork. 

Speaking of the other patrol though....... A panicked S.O.S. traveled through the comm lines. Jazz quickly pinpointed the location and revved his engines, “Time to go go go! Let's boogy!”

Engines roaring, the pair left the road and sped South. They bounced over small hills and dragged up dirt clouds in their wake. Jazz tried to establish a connection. “/Hey Tracks?! Windcharger mech, answer meh!/”

A gargled and static-laden reply scratched against their audios. All the two could catch was the word 'quick'. Hoist pushed his engine to its limit, worry obvious in his tone, “That call doesn't sound good. You can go faster....”

“Catch up as soon as yah can mech.” Jazz agreed.

With a furious engine snarl, the Porsche throttled it and took off. The needle on his dash jumped up towards red. He hurtled across the desert towards the distress signal and within moments he was close. Jazz heard them before he saw them. Howls and an overtaxed engine clashed violently with the previously quiet of pre-dawn. Going over a hundred, the mech poured on the speed and skidded around some larger hillocks. 

Six shapes chased Windcharger, maws open and teeth nipping at his back tires. The grey mini was flooring it, going as fast as he possibly could with panic radiating off him in waves. He swerved out of control on the rough ground. 

The beasts appeared to be viscous oily smoke poured into the shape of creatures. If one took a rough panther shape the size of an rhino, added a too long and thin tail, golden embers for optics, and broken shards for teeth, then one could imagine what the creatures looked like. And fail to grasp how terrifying they were. Sparks flew up where their paws landed as if they were the remnants of a fire yet to go out. Looking entirely wrong with no ears on their slicked heads and sloping muzzles, the pack howled in predatory victory. The cry sent a shiver along Jazz's struts. There was something in the sound that made his mind scream to run faster. 

“Fraggin' demons!” Jazz hissed, aiming towards the hunt. 

An enraged shriek answered their call. Diving, clawed feet scratched at the pack and tried to drive them away from Wincharger. Two of the beasts reared up to dig their teeth into Track's legs. He screamed in fury as the other three continued to hound the terrified mech. Forced to rise or get dragged down, Tracks flapped his wings, massive winds sending dust and leaves flying as he went higher. Another screech bombarded them. 

/Help him!/ Tracks' voice roared over the comm line. 

Jazz swerved onto the tail of the hunt, straining to catch up. /Windcharger STOP!!/

No reply. Not that he expected it. The mech was too far gone to hear a word anyone said. One of the beasts, the largest, made a powerful leap and landing on the trans am's hood. His claws dug into the metal. Windcharger yelped and twisted, shaking on his shocks until the monster fell off. A cackling wail went up from the others, driving the mech forward. 

/Windcharger, you have to STOP! It's the only way to escape!/ Thrusting himself forward, Jazz rammed his front bumper against the slowest demon. It whipped around to snap it's teeth before turning ahead, legs pumping. Tracks dived again. Air whistled over the streamlined feathers. He smashed one of the Stunticons away and rose. Jazz followed the pack, right on their tails. But even as he readied to shove them aside, a wave of nausea brushed by them. Jazz bellowed, “NO!”

Windcharger collapsed. His body transformed on instinct and dropped into an overheated pile of metal onto the ground. His spark, not realizing he'd lost his frame, continued moving forward down the Road to the Pits. 

Tracks screeched above, ignorant of what had happened. The Stunticons disappeared from his sight and jumped planes to continue chasing their prey. Pissed off, Jazz followed. 

The door in the barrier closed on his back tires. Cloudy red skies pressed down on hot and empty Cybertronian roads. In the distance, a black smudge hunkered on the horizon like an angry serpent that was never going to leave it's spot. The gate to the Pits. Shedding corporeal frame, Jazz moved. And moved fast. This may have been the demon's territory but he was a Gatekeeper. All places for sparks were accessible to him. Even the Road to the Pits. Flying across the barren metal landscape like a streak of light, Jazz crashed into the pack. Sparks danced and flew beneath their paws as they rolled and tried to stand. Mentally drawing power around himself, the black and white bot opened his mouth to let out a thunderous din. 

“WINDCHARGER! STOP!” 

The onslaught of multiple voices and command sent the spark spinning and whirling to a halt. There was no choice. In this place, Jazz's voice had to be obeyed. 

If only such a trick would work on sparkless demons. Standing tall, the Gatekeeper surveyed them with wrath on his face and optic band glowing white. He did not look as he did in the land of the living. Usually quite short, he wouldn't have been anywhere close to even the smallest's height. Now, Jazz towered over them like an angry god that had just woken up to find someone raiding his temples. Onyx plating gleamed to an almost reflective quality while white softly glowed like opalescent pearls lit by sunlight. Runes edged the metal. The same curved grey script flowed over a dark ribbon that floated around Jazz's shoulders and above his helm. His horns had sharpened. Seeming to absorb the russet light, a smooth black pipe rested in his servos with tiny wisps curling out of the open end. 

He stuck it in the corner of his mouth as the Stunticons shifted to mech shape. The seeping dark vapor oozed upright, taking on a vague mech-like shape before pulling away to reveal beings that actually looked Cybertronian. Giving a rictus grin, Motormaster pulled out a sword and leaned on the hilt. 

“Yer in my territory.” The Gatekeeper rumbled. A puff of smoke eased out of his lips, hovering in the air in ways smoke shouldn't, clinging to form and swirling on tiny currents instead of rising. It gave the place a musky sweet scent over it's natural acidic tartness.

A rough bark from the leader, “Hey! This is our territory.” Motormaster gestured at the road with a clawed hand. Dark energon flickered malevolently from the spaces between his armor. A larger and angrier cloud of smoke blew out of Jazz as he pulled the pipe from his lips and tapped some ashes out. They disappeared before they hit the ground. The Stunticons hissed although it wasn't even close to them. 

“Yah were in mah territory an' this spark is mine.” His voice deepened with his displeasure. 

Down by the ground, Windcharger's spark huddled between the Gatekeeper's legs. He may have been a little fuzzy on the details of what was going on, but instinct said that was the safest place to be. Jazz took a deeper drag and let the smoke out through his nose, a dragon giving mortals a warning to leave him alone. 

Unfortunately, demons tended not to take hints like that. Especially this group. Wildrider cackled, “Can't blame us! We're doin' our job!”

“Does yah job give yah educational learnin'?” Jazz took a menacing steps forward, ground quivering slightly. The edges of his armor went as hazy as the murky cloud that wafted around him. Slithering around his arms, the ribbon curled and wove, “'Cause ahm pretty sure last we met I sliced some folk's helms off. Maybeh I should repeat the lesson.”

He leaned down to blow smoke right into their faces, “Maybeh I should kill yah truly this tahm.”

They stumbled back coughing, hisses and growls sliding out of their throats at the burn. Searing optics glared at him. They went from kindled orange to a bright red. Motormaster straightened with an angered look upon his faceplates. He tensed like he was truly considering a fight and Jazz showed off a fanged smile in return. 

Dragstrip tensed, silently communicating with the leader of the pack. The conversation between them went on for a moment, the other most likely joining in to convince him that they didn't want be pounded into the ground again, before Motormaster eased back. Lifting his lip in a snarl, he spat at Jazz's feet. The spark flinched back. “We ain' done.”

“'Course not mech.” Jazz agreed amiably. He went for the last word just to antagonize the other. It seemed to work, if the returned sneer was anything to go by. 

Turning away, the pack jumped back into their hellhound forms and raced off, disappearing in a glimmer of smog and fiery embers. Shaking his helm in frustration, Jazz sighed. He could kill them, but then Unicron would just make more or sucker some greedy idiot into the job and the rules would change. At least with this group, he knew how they played. Crouching, he cupped the spark and held it close to his chest. 

“This is probably a mite bit scary.” Jazz tried to smile softly even though he was not happy, “How yah holdin' up mech?”

((Jazz? You look different. I don't feel right.)) Windcharger shivered, the faint light he gave off flickering. 

Setting a steady pace, the Gatekeeper headed away from the Pits and back down the empty road. Cracks in the metal continually tried to trip him. The pipe in the corner of his mouth wobbled before he got a better grip with his teeth. “Yeh. Don't worry though. We're headin' back now so everythin's gonna be fine n' dandy. Sorreh if ah look a bit scary mech.”

Mulling it over, the spark tried to a timid truth, ((You feel a little eerie. But more different...... just different than scary.)) Windcharger settled a little, soothed by proximity and the balmy scent coming from the smoke.

A chuckle. “Aww, that's mighteh nice ah yah. I know ahm scary. It's parta what ah am.”

Opening a door, Jazz stepped through towards the corporeal plane. He shrank before he passed the opening, the smoke and ribbon disappeared as if they'd never been. As his paint muted to normal tones and visor colored, Jazz hovered on the edge. There was always a bit of a push. His being felt more kin to the other places and needed encouragement to move forward. Taking a step, he passed through and the pipe was gone, always the last thing to leave. 

A sharp snap sounded in the cool desert air as the rift closed behind them. Jazz vented a deep sigh to drink in the scents of aromatic herbs and the sharp smell of disturbed dirt. The sky had lightened so that it almost looked like daylight. Having gone, the last of the stars left the sky empty. 

“About time! You have him?” 

Well well, looked like the rescue party was here. Jazz grinned at Ratchet and wiggled some fingers, the ones not wrapped around his comrade's spark. “Yah doubtin' meh?”

“Just get over here!” The medic snapped. Kneeling on the ground by Windcharger's body, he was checking through the systems to look for any damages that would prevent the spark from returning. Hoist glanced up at the arrival but quickly went back to repairing the overheated engine. Apparently on guard, Trailbreaker stood at their backs and kept a wary visor on the surroundings. 

Tracks was still in his avian form, feathers flared out as much as they possibly could. 

Jazz took a few quick steps and bent over to peer at the spark chamber Ratchet held open. The others couldn't help but watch him, optics drawn to the glowing orb he cradled. It was a morbid fascination, brought on by fear and worry for their friend. Hoist shivered unconsciously. Windcharger's spark should've reacted to the faint breeze but remained safely cocooned in the Gatekeeper's hands. Sparks were not meant to be outside of bodies and exposed to the elements. It defied logic that he was perfectly fine out here in the open. 

((Jazz?)) The others couldn't hear the concerned note. 

Humming, the black and white dipped to lean over the grey and red body. “Easy mech. Yer goin' back tah where yer supposed tah be. Trust meh, it ain't yer tahm tah go yet.” He pulled the spark away from himself and hovered his cupped servos over the chest. A blue glow from his visor lit the inside in the illusion of life. Here came the tricky part. 

((Alright.))

Quiet gasps echoed as Jazz placed Windcharger's spark back. There were a few seconds between leaving the Gatekeeper's hands and actually entering the chamber where everyone tensed. But he didn't flicker out and Ratchet quickly closed the chest plates before any foreign components got in. Letting out loud sighs of relief, the medics started to scan Windcharger and bring him out of stasis. Jazz vented deeply and wandered over to Tracks. His job was technically over but there were still important things to be done. 

When it came to the Stunticons, people always reacted extremely in one of three ways. Either fear, anger, or a heady mixture of both. It seemed Tracks was in the second category.

Sitting on the gravel, Jazz leaned up against the large feathered wildling. Tracks twitched but didn't react very much aside from giving off a subsonic rumble. In the not-quite-morning light, cyan blue optics glowed as they stared at a distant point in the sky. Four talon-laden feet dug into the ground and flexed, digging up little rocks and roots. Wings rustled. Fully spread, they could easily cover all the bots present, but at the moment they hung tightly closed. While his body was mainly a deep royal blue color, white and candy red-orange streaks marked his crested head, darted down his neck and flared on his chest. Larger white ribbons striped across his aerial limbs. The blue faded out to a lighter red on his long tail feathers, two particular thin ones stretching past the others to end in triangular tips. When Jazz lifted one leg to get a look at the bite marks, his beak clicked in warning. 

“Yah should let Doc take ah look at these.” The saboteur gently set the limb down and turned his face upward. The first colors of dawn had turned navy blackness to pale lavender. “Take deep vents mech.”

A shiver traveled up Tracks' spinal struts, rustling his thin metal feathers while he turned his helm to look at the small mech beside him, “I.... Jazz, I can't calm down....” The normally cultured, smooth and over-confident tone was absent. Instead, confusion and restrained ire washed through his words. 

“Yeah. They tend to do that. Stunticons gotta nasty aura. Either drive ah mech crazy with fear or make 'em mad.” Sharp digits picked at the scratches on his frame. “Just let it go and vent deep mech. Yah just gotta make yerself chill.”

The avian tried, wings rising to half-mast and form quivering. He gasped deeply several times before letting out a long low sigh and sinking down on his haunches. “Thank you.” He allowed Jazz to stroke some of the larger feathers without complaint. Normally he abhorred anyone dislodging his perfectly groomed plates but comfort won out on vanity this time, “I do not like how out of control I was. I couldn't even think straight when I tried to comm you and Hoist.”

Shrugging, the SIC sighed. “Hate tah say it but it gets easier tah handle with practice.”

“And you're going to have practice if Megatron is summoning demons again.” Ratchet butted in, waving a tool in their direction with a huff, “Stupid wildling is playing with things that would eat him whole and spit out his parts.”

“Hey, it could be worse. The Stunticons are ah pain but they're not too bad.” Jazz tried to lighten the situation.

And....... it didn't work. Everyone else gave him strange looks. Tracks especially seemed to be debating if brig time was worth shoving his commanding officer down a hill. Speaking for all of them, Trailbreaker piped up, “It could be worse?”

Face growing serious, the Gatekeeper lowered his voice, “There are always worse things in the other places and spaces between.”

That got them all quiet. Ratchet made a face, caught between a pout and a frustrated snarl when he realized Jazz was right. The others hunched slightly as Windcharger started to come around. In the distance of the mesas and buttes, coyotes howled to the darkness slipping away. The first glimmer of real morning sun peaked over the hilly horizon of the East.  
.  
.  
.  
Plays 'Highway to Hell'

Keepers of the Road to the Pit: Mystics. A type of demon that delights in creating panic and confusion, chasing a spark out of it's body and down the road that leads to the Pits. Their presence usually causes panic or rage. It's said that when they are chasing you, you can feel the fires of the Pit on your back. 

Gatekeeper: Mystics. Also known as Guardian of the Path, Death Shaman, and occasionally, Death's Messenger. There is always one Gatekeeper. When one dies, another is sparked somewhere to take the previous one's place. Gatekeepers are a strange lot by nature, traveling through other planes and dimensions to make sure the dead stay dead and the newly dead go to where they're supposed to be. Appearances vary but their true form always has white optics. They are said to be able to suck the light from a room and see into other's sparks but no one knows if this is true or not. 

Avian: Wildling. Appearances vary depending on wildling and which avian subspecies. Tracks is similar to a bird of paradise but has six limbs (four legs, one pair of wings). Avians have tough durable feather shaped plating on their bodies with thinner and more flexible ones on their wings and tails. Their sharp beaks are very adept at tearing things but the talons are not to be underestimated either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is starting again so it might be a bit before the next chapter.


	8. It Was an Accident, I Swear!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, the Bots put as many Autobots and Neutrals as they could find on the Ark before lift off. Many were put into stasis right away to be awakened when they had more energon later. The Autobots that were awake for the crash fell into stasis but were not in stasis pods which had kept a number of (but not all) mechs safe from damage.

The morning was peaceful. It was quiet, it was calm, and it was wonderful. So of course everything had to fall into madness by noon. Honestly, why was Prowl even surprised?

"-a bucket of sparkles dumped on him." Red Alert finished, his tired expression showing how much he found the prank funny.

Seated at his desk, Prowl realized with a sense of foreboding that he wasn't going to get to his paperwork anytime soon and started to put his datapads away in their drawers, "Why glitter?" As opposed to sequins or confetti. Why the worst earth weapon he'd ever seen? And did it even matter why?

"Do you recall how Spike mentioned that sirens from human mythology tend to be extremely pretty?" At the tactician's nod, Red Alert shrugged. Prowl's face scrunched in confusion.

"What does glitter have to do with beauty standards?"

Another shrug. Red Alert didn't know and didn't care. With a sigh, the black and white decided it wasn't an important matter and to finish with the nonsense, "I'll tell Sideswipe he has extra surveillance duty-"

"It wasn't Sideswipe." Interrupted the Security Directory blandly. "It was Ironhide."

For a moment, Prowl wasn't sure if he wanted to lay his helm down on the desk or go find Ironhide and demand he deal with all the nonsense running around base, seeing as he felt like contributing to it. Some days...

In all honestly, Ironhide could be a menace when he felt like it. While he wasn't as nearly creative as the Twins and didn't cause any harm, the big mech was never ashamed to own up to what he did and the other officers could rarely wipe the smug off his faceplates. What worked on most troublemakers; Prowl's punishments, Ratchet's fury, or the Prime's disappointment, didn't do a thing to Ironhide. He just laughed. At least his mischievous side was rare.

Prowl rubbed his forehead and muttered quietly, "He must be bored of terrorizing the troops."

Crossing his arms, Red Alert huffed sharply and made an offer, "I can lock him out of the washracks for a few days."

"Unfortunately, that might be a bit too subtle for him." One doorwing twitched in agitation as Prowl added grimly, "I'll speak to him about it. For all the good it will do." A quick sardonic grin flashed across Red Alert's stoic face, almost too quick to be noticed before it was gone. An incoming call distracted them both as Prowl raised a servo to his comm link.

/Prowl./A sharp demand from Ratchet. /Where is Optimus? His comms are off./

Both doorwings twitched unconsciously. /He is in the washracks, dealing with glitter./ He couldn't help the harsh note of hatred that slipped into that last word. Which was perfectly reasonable. Glitter was an evil substance. Prowl wouldn't have been surprised if it was an invention of Unicron himself to drive all the sane people crazy. Of course, that theory didn't have a lot of evidence since humans were the ones to invent it...

/Hmph. Well, I need you in here anyways. Get down to the medbay./

/What is the issue?/

/Get down here./Ratchet snapped, in no mood to waste time on a lengthy explanation. The line cut off rather abruptly.

Blue optics narrowed at the light reflecting from the clean bronze metal of his desk. His empty desk, because he'd put away his datapads. Sometimes, Prowl hated being right. There would be no time for his normal work today. Correctly reading the Second in command's expression, Red Alert gave a salute and turned sharply to leave. "Whatever it is, good luck."

"Thank you." Prowl murmured as he stood to leave as well.

Soon enough, (and was that a good or bad thing?), the Praxian walked into the medbay expecting a lot of things. Someone damaged from trying a stupid stunt, the Decepticons had sent them a virus, or perhaps the news that Wheeljack had accidentally created a device that was going to destroy the world and there was no conveniently labeled off button. Instead, he found five younglings staring at him silently. Their expressions ranged from curious, to concerned, to one particularly indignant and mildly panicked face. He sighed, doorwings drooping.

Instead of wasting time stating the obvious such as "Why are there younglings in here?", "Shouldn't they be in stasis?", or even the ever eloquent "What?", Prowl jumped right to the root of things.

"Why?"

Huddled together on one medberth, the mostly red, white, and gray younglings shifted and squirmed closer to one another. Too large for their frames, metal-feather wings were drawn tightly to their backs. The indignant one glared hard while another bit his lip. Who was this new adult to watch them with such sharp and deep optics?

Tapping a servo on the counter by the sink, Ratchet grumbled. "Because that one," a gesture at mister indignant, "somehow got around the medical protocols I had in place and woke up. Which woke the others up."

"It's not my fault!" Shrilled the youngling in question, "I didn't mean to do it!"

One of the others joined in, "He really didn't mean to. He doesn't even know how he did it."

Prowl held up a hand for silence and leveled them with a hard look. Their plating clamped down as they quieted, "And how did he wake the others?"

"He kicked me." One of the smaller mechlings put in solemnly, although he didn't seem too upset by the fact he'd stated. The early riser yelled again, "It was an accident, I swear! I was only half awake."

"They were put in a larger stasis pod together because they're pegasi wildlings." Ratchet sighed, "I need you to deal with them. A flight capable wildling has to start teaching them how to fly." A quick glance at the five little faces watching him, "And so I don't have more patients than necessary."

Quickly going through the names of those available, Prowl grimaced, coming to the same conclusion as the medic. Powerglide and Tracks were the only other flying wildlings on base. Powerglide was an immediate no. He didn't know how responsible Tracks could be with younglings, so that was a possible maybe for later. Bumblebee he could trust but his wings didn't work the same way so he couldn't show the little ones the same maneuvers. Which left himself. His wings were just like theirs but bigger.

"I see. What are your names?" Turning back to the tiny herd, Prowl glanced at them questioningly.

Mister indignant answered first, expression still mulish, "Slingshot."

"Air Raid!" "Skydive." "Silverbolt."

"Fireflight." Cheerfully piped up the one who'd been kicked.

The Tactician nodded, "My name is Prowl. I am the second in command here and a sphinx wildling. It seems I'll be charge of teaching you how to fly." There was a mixed response to that, three whoops of joy, one puffed out chest, and Silverbolt started chewing his lip again. Despite his annoyance with the situation, Ratchet couldn't help but chuckle.

"Well, it's a good thing we have a stable energon supply now. This lot will need it."

Prowl dipped his helm, "Indeed. And I suppose now would be an appropriate time to practice since we are not currently under attack and the situation is calm." Mentally checking his schedule, he started to reorganize for the new task. "I'll need some mechs to make sure we have a clean room for them." He continued aloud mainly to himself.

"Um, excuse me, Prowl?" Silverbolt started, only to be interrupted by Skydive tugging on his elbow.

"You have to say 'Sir' at the end."

Putting his tools away, Ratchet half turned to wave a welder at them, "Now don't you start. You lot don't need to be worrying about stupid things like that until you're older."

One optic ridge rose as Prowl gave him a cool look, "Stupid things?"

The ambulance gave a grunt, "You don't need to follow protocol all the time. And they certainly have other things to focus on."

Deciding the argument with the caustic mech wasn't worth the effort, the Praxian turned back to the fidgeting pegasi. "What was it you wanted to ask Silverbolt?" Giving the adult a wary look, the mechling flicked his blue optics across the floor, ceiling, Ratchet's turned back before returning to Prowl.

"Are we going to fly right now?"

Curious. The mechling seemed too nervous for such a simple question. "In a few moments. We have to go outside first. Assuming there are no medical issues?" A head shake from Ratchet answered that. "Then yes, we are going to practice now. Is there a problem?"

"No, no! I just wanted to know." Optics once again flickering around, Silverbolt clasped his servos in his lap in a picture of nervous innocence.

Slingshot snorted loudly. Humming in thought, Prowl decides tact and patience was needed and let the odd behavior go. One of the others, Air Raid he believed, stopped paying attention to the conversation and absently started scratching and tugging at his wings as he stared at all the weird tools in the room. Skydive reached over to help him reach a spot in the middle of his back plating.

Catching sight of this, Ratchet drew himself up and slapped away their hands, "Just what do you think you're doing?" The other younglings all looked at him blankly, confusion flickering across a few small faces. Air Raid shrugged.

"It itches."

"Well, they're growing in. And they'll fall out when they're ready, so don't scratch."

A great loud gasp came from Silverbolt, optics widening to comical levels, "If they're falling out, can we still fly? What if they fall out while we're flying?!" The others all gasped dramatically too but Ratchet's laughter forced their attention back on the medic. Prowl pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge, realizing why the little pegasi was so skittish. They had a flier who was either afraid of flying or afraid of heights. Not uncommon with younglings not used to their wings but not an easy task to work with either.

"Now calm down." Snickered Ratchet, one side of his mouth curved up in a crooked grin, "You have plenty of feathers. Even if you drop a couple while flying, you're not going to fall out of the sky."

Silverbolt narrowed his blue optics suspiciously, "Are you sure?" Just because an adult said so didn't mean it wouldn't happen.

"Yes, kid. I'm the medic and I know what I'm talking about." An exasperated huff.

Skydive slowly reached up inconspicuously to scratch his own wings, eyeing the red and white mech the entire time. Optics turning to slits, the medic half raised his servo as if about to grab the kid. Five sets of eyes observed the show silently before the youngling lowered his hand as Ratchet dropped his, slowly turning away while still watching.

Deciding to get a move on, Prowl sighed, "They know how to transform, correct?"

Skydive nodded seriously while Slingshot spoke up before Ratchet; "We're not that young!"

"Yes you are mechling." Ratchet drawled.

Taking offense, Slingshot jumped up, wings flaring to whack his siblings in the face, "Are not! I'm old enough to remember Cybertron!"

"Ow."

"Watch it Sling!"

"It was dark. I remember that." Fireflight spoke up with a distant look on his face, feet swinging off the medberth.

Annoyed with being off topic, Air Raid finally answered Prowl. "We know how to transform. We've practice flown twice before but it was indoor and not for very long... I'm bored! Can we go now?"

Ratchet snorted while giving Prowl a side-look. "Younglings."

One of the side doors on the far side of the medbay opened with a hiss. The pegasi squirmed and scrambled closer together, wings fluffing up as the adults turned to see who it was. With a winged arm bent the wrong way and feathers dangling close to the ground, Powerglide hopped through the doorway to wave at the mechs using his good arm, before pausing to notice the small herd.

"Whoah! Where'd they come from?" He continued to stare unabashed as Ratchet ushered the harpy up onto a berth and started the repairs.

Lips thinning, the medic gestured at the others to shoo them out of the medbay, "You had best go before you have the whole Ark in here looking at them," he stated, before turning on the minibot, "And what happened to you mister?"

Prowl didn't listen to what would undoubtedly be a ridiculous answer and muttered quietly, "Nooo, we'll just walk through the entire base instead to let them gawk at the younglings..." said bitlets stared at him solemnly. With a sigh, he nodded his helm at the door. "Alright. Come one." Fireflight hopped down with a grunt and took the bigger mech's hand automatically.

Gasping as if a terrible offense had been committed, Skydive hid his mouth behind his small servos, "You can't do that! He's an officer."

"Is there a rule that officers can't hold hands? That's stupid." Slingshot grabbed Prowl's free servo and scowled at his brother. Struggling not to roll his optics and hold onto his patience, the SIC gently squeezed the servos linked in his.

"It is alright."

They followed him like ducklings as he urged them out of the medbay and through the base. Not even two steps later, Air Raid jumped ahead of the group and transformed. Hooves clacked against the floor as he pranced on wobbly legs and whickered in excitement. His wings shifted position slightly but remained on his back. Prowl hummed as a thought occurred, "Mirage will be excited to see you. He'll have a herd to run with, even it you're smaller than he."

"Who's Mirage?" Several of the bitlets started chattering as they turned down another hall, Air Raid running ahead and then turning back when he didn't know which way they were going.

The adult chuckled "He's a wildling similar to you but without wings. He's a Karkadann." An unanimous gasp of terror, "Now stop that. Right now. He is a very nice mech and he won't harm you. I'm fairly certain he likes younglings, if I remember correctly." Prowl jiggled Fireflight's servos when he still didn't look convinced.

"He doesn't eat people?"

"I thought the Karkadanns were all gone."

Prowl sighed, optic ridges pinching together, "No, he doesn't eat people. And they are all gone except for him. He has no one to run with him. Those of us who are of four legs do so sometimes but it's not the same. You are built more like he is than the rest of us."

It was quiet for a moment as they thought it over. Silverbolt transformed as well and spoke up, "Okay. Are we gonna run outside?" And that just opened up a whole flood of new questions.

"What does outside look like?"

"Ratchet said we're on an alien planet."

"Is it dark?"

"Can we go exploring?" Air Raid squealed and kicked his back legs as he scampered in circled around Prowl. "Can we? Can we? Are there aliens?"

Doorwings twitching at the sudden onslaught, Prowl fought the urge to stop walking and just close his optics. "Younglings, quiet." They closed their mouths but continued to look up at him hopefully. "You'll see what outside looks like in a moment, it's not dark because the sun is out, yes, we're on an alien planet and you may NOT go exploring by yourselves." He spat it all out in a rush as they passed into the main hall that would lead outside. "I know you haven't seen a sun before, so please don't look directly at it for too long."

"Why?" Everyone except Slingshot chimed in. Said mechling just huffed, possibly thinking of doing exactly what Prowl just said not to do.

"It is very bright and can damage your optical sensors eventually."

The rest of the conversation was cut off as a roar sounded ahead of them along with crashing. There was no time to wonder what was going on or even advice the younglings to get behind him before some very large creatures burst from around the corner. The red one smacked into the wall with a grunt but was up in seconds, crouched on over-sized paws and a howl of rage spilling from behind his bared teeth.

Built like a lion with a very bushy fox tail, Sideswipe flared his armor plates. Red and black patterned thin plating surrounding his face bristled into a mane with thick scaled horns curving out from it and up. Flexing his claws, Sunstreaker joined his brother and snarled at Brawn, the basilisk having thrown his brother. He lunged, slamming into the crystal reptile and they went down in a pile of screeching fury. His twin joined him. A gray streak rounded the corner after then and jumped on top of the shifting mass of claws and snapping maws. Bluestreak in canid form was visible for only a moment as he balanced before the mech entered the fray as well.

Optics wide in surprise, Prowl stared. Then anger started to fizzle under his plating. He turned to see all the younglings in altmode, crowded behind him with wings fluffed up and tails tucked beneath them. Audios lay flat against their helms as they stomped their hooves and neighed nervously. A whine curled out of Fireflight's throat.

"Stay right there." He ordered darkly, hoping to Primus they would obey before he turned to the brawling mechs.

Prowl hated transforming within the confines of the Ark. There weren't many spaces he could easily move in. With a heavy rumble building in his chest, he shifted, additional armor plates and feathered wings coming out of subspace.

Landing on all four, Prowl drew himself up to full height, the top of his helm brushing the ceiling, before he roared. The aggressive bellow shook the walls.

The mechs below froze and slowly turned to see their commanding officer glowering at them. An elegantly plumed tail swished back and forth, connected to a slim and elongated quadrupedal body. Wings connected just behind the front legs. His feathers shifted, drawing attention to the rippling black pattern staining the pearly feathers. Delicate paws showed off thin needle-like claws, the legs going up and up to the chest, leading to a long neck that ended at Prowl's head. Instead of more defined features, his face appeared flatter and more of a mask. Two thin horns curved out from his temple and back. Compared to the other mechs about him, Prowl was huge, easily twice their size.

Sunstreaker settled himself on his feet a little better, lip curling to show off his teeth. The sphinx growled in return, spines along his back slowly rising and falling in silent warning. When Brawn tried to detangle himself Bluestreak, Prowl moved forward to slam the group into the floor with his front paws.

Immediately flattening himself, Sideswipe whined piteously as his brother snarled and struggled, denta snapping. Brawn yelped and curled a little, landing on his back with one of the sphinx's paws pinning him to the floor. Only Bluestreak was spared the treatment but he didn't run. Instead, the canid crouched, belly scraping the floor and tail tucked in to make himself smaller.

"What," rumbled Prowl, "are you doing?"

The basilisk managed to get the first word in, "They were marking up our hallway!" he snapped, referring to the minibot quarters.

"It's our hallway too!" Sideswipe twisted to look at Brawn, fluffy tail seeming to flare out even more.

Territory fights. Joy. That probably explained why Powerglide had been in the medbay earlier.

While he'd known this would happen eventually, Prowl had made sure every territorial mech had a good two rooms between their quarters to keep aggression at a minimum. He knew that the small rooms were making them all twitchy but there was nothing to be done about it. The project to create more space farther in the mountain was slow going.

"We were just wrestling!" Sunstreaker defended their side.

Brawn was having none of it, "You were denting and scratching up the walls!"

"The hallway doesn't belong to you!" Bluestreak burst in, tail quivering, "Other mechs use it too."

Rumbling in annoyance, Prowl bent his neck until he was right in their faces, "ENOUGH. Everyone has their own space. The hallway is no one's territory. I will not have anyone fighting over it. Or, I'll claim all of them as mine. Understand?" The last word was punctured with a loud snarl, spines and wings rising.

A chorus of "yes,sir"s answered him. Huffing, the sphinx lifted his paws off them. Sideswipe rolled and tried to snuggle up against the bigger wildling's side, his brother more sullen but doing the same. With no hesitance, Bluestreak scrambled over on sliding paws and rubbed up against Prowl's front. Brawn snorted at the display. He never understood the wildling's need for physical contact. With another sigh, Prowl settled on his front and let his wings wrap around the others. A quiet and content purr was heard for a brief moment before he pulled back.

"Bluestreak, I believe you are to be on patrol soon." He stated as the mechs started to leave, "And Twins?"

The two wildlings look at him, tails curling, "Try not to make all the minibots hate you, please?"

"Sure sure Prowl." Sideswipe chuckled before catching sight of the Aerialbots. "Whoah."

Ignoring the audience, Prowl made a difficult turn and took a step over to the small herd. The younglings stared at him with wide optics. Whispering in awe, Slingshot spoke up, "Was that a territory fight?"

A graceful dip of his helm as he steered the skittish pegasi toward the main door, "Yes. You do not need to concern yourselves with that until you're an adult."

"You're huuuuuuge..." Skydive twisted around to look back at the other adults in the hall watching them.

Humming in distracted agreement, Prowl finally managed to get them out the door, noticing that it was properly fixed now, and closed it behind them. Whatever other thoughts or questions they had concerning the fight vanished as they took in the brightly lit landscape of wind-rippled grass and blue skies. A moment of stunned silence descended upon them.

And then was broken with a shrill whinny of glee as Air Raid bolted forward to kick up his hooves and prance around in the grass. The others instantly chased after, frolicking around on wobbly legs and flapping their wings like crazy. With no warning, Fireflight tried to take to the air with a leap and lashing wings. It ended with a surprised yelps as the foal didn't quite manage to stay up. Catcalls and good-natured teasing abound. They were all thrilled to be outside.

Except Silverbolt who was still next to the sphinx's right flank. He glanced up at Prowl nervously.

With his tail twitching, Prowl decided it was just going to be a long day and there was nothing to be done about it. With one paw, he pushed the bitlet forward, "Come on. I assure you it won't be as bad as you think."

.

.

Waves crashed against the rough pitted rock. But even at it's highest, the spray couldn't reach the top where the manticore lounged. Warming himself in the sun, the massive wildling slowly stretched his forelegs before tucking them against his chest. Optics shuttered as he dozed.

Just because he was sunbathing, didn't mean he couldn't hear the bickering behind him. Nor the loud "shhh!" from one of them.

Crystal claws scratched on rock as Starscream climbed up the backside of the tiny outcropping. Thundercracker hissed a warning that they should find somewhere else to be but was obviously ignored by the sounds of the lead seeker giving a haughty exhale and settling behind Megatron.

Skywarp teleported in, dropping into the little space left on the rock between the two. It set Starscream off in a shrieking fit of insults and flapping wings. Opening his optics to glare moodily at the horizon line, Megatron tensed the muscles in one of his hind legs before snapping it back in a strong kick. The force shoved the violet and black crystal dragon into the other two and sent the trine careening into the water.

There was the beautiful sounds of a surprised screech and loud splashing.

Chuckling, Megatron resettled himself to continue dozing. The dragons could go find their own perch. This one was his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot of Wildlings in this chapter. To be fair, they are the most common species. They're also the most well known for being territorial.
> 
> Sphinx: Wildling. Like an elongated cat with thinner limbs, a long neck, and horns. They are always territorial and always rather large compared to other wildlings. Prowl is roughly the same size as Megatron in alt mode. His wings are also more like an owls than a traditional sphinx's eagle ones.
> 
> Pegasi: Wildling. Built almost exactly like a karkadann but without the horn and with wings. Their tails are also softer and do not function as a whip.
> 
> Harpy: Wildling. Clawed feet and wings with three fingers instead of arms. They don't transform.
> 
> Lennoxes: Wildling. The twins could not find a human word they liked that described them, so they combined "lion" and "fox" and got "lennox". Yes, I'm aware of the irony.  
> .  
> .  
> Whoo! Had to put this story on hold for school but now I'm back! *throws fists in the air*


	9. Sunflowers

Outside was wonderful. It was so warm, much warmer than they were used to but it felt nice. Pulling his wings close to his back, Fireflight reached up to touch the yellow petals that bloomed from a drooping sunflower, his servos knocking black seeds to the ground. 

They were hiding in a field of wheat and sunflowers, enjoying their game as Prowl stood at the edge with his doorwings hiked up in annoyed V. A giggle from one of the others on the far right had him turning that way but the black and white mech couldn't see them. 

Fireflight giggled too, crouching down to blend in with the tawny and green plants. The sun shone down brightly, casting shadow spots on his armor as rustling heralded Skydive appearing out of the stalks, grinning mischievously. With a tug on his elbow, they crawled farther in where Silverbolt and the others were. 

Grimacing as he didn't see the younglings but heard their laughter and snickering, Prowl sighed. At least they were having fun. 

A strong burst of wind sent the field in motion, plants shaking as youngling shrieks of joy rose up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to remind everyone, I would love to hear guesses and theories as to what species the other characters are, the ones who haven't shown up/been explained yet. If you have questions or guesses, you can comment here or message me here: https://darkwalk.tumblr.com/


	10. A Sleeping Sun

He didn't dream. 

There was only an instant of dark nothingness and in another instant, crashing.   
Pain. Loud noise. An explosion. Weightlessness and the feeling of being too heavy as he was tossed around like a youngling's toy. The sounds of glass breaking and metal screams as it was twisted out of shape by blunt force trauma. 

He didn't know what was going on. 

In that one instant, when he should have been in a stasis pod, he was not. It was dark, blurred shapes illuminated by sparking wires that flickered from broken machinery. Warning sirens blared faintly, far away. Or were they close and his audios were glitching? His claws dug into the ruptured metal of the floor. Somehow, he'd changed to true-form without realizing it. It was cold, so cold. He needed to be warm. 

He didn't feel heat. 

Or perhaps he did. Ahead of him, a bit to the right, he could feel a faint heat. Loopy from the protocols screaming at him to go back to stasis and injured from a gash along his front, he crawled and staggered toward the warmth. Heat was good. Heat was life. It would keep him safe. 

He didn't know how much time passed. 

It seemed like no time at all. Like a dream that faded away as soon as one woke. The before was forgotten, everything forgotten, as he struggled over rubble and wreckage to the warmth. If there were bodies in his way, he didn't notice. Somehow, he found himself at the source of the warmth. A soft glow of orange rock and light from below heated stones called him until he collapsed in exhaustion atop them. 

Then he dreamed. 

Ghost-like things of little sense and no meaning, no coherent thoughts wafted through his mind. It was a content slumber of warmth and safety. And then there was a song. It tugged at his core, telling him to wake, there were things to be done. Forgotten people he needed to be with. It stoked a fire in his belly that curled and spun but the warmth was too much for him. The serene refuge filled with dreaming dragged him under again, stasis protocols refusing to let go. 

And he slumbered on. 

.  
.  
.

“Look at the light...good, just like that.” Ratchet clicked off the light and pulled it away from Arcee's optics. “Everything checks out. You're clear. Now out.” A red servo jerked toward the open door where several faces were peering around the door frame to get a glimpse of the new bots. They'd had enough energon to wake some of those in stasis and the regular crew were understandably eager to talk to them. 

“Aww, don't like me hanging around medic?” The smaller pink and white femme teased. She'd heard of Ratchet's cranky personality (who hadn't?), but had never met or been treated by him before. 

A loud snort answered her as the ambulance turned away to the medberth next to hers, “I don't like people being in here if they aren't injured. I need the space in case there's an emergency. And your friend here,” Ratchet lifted Springer's arm to get a good look at the torn metal adorning it's side, “isn't quite as unscathed as you.”

Springer made a rude noise, “You make is sound like it's my fault.”

Ignoring the ensuing bickering and Blurr's giggles, Arcee did as the CMO had bid and hopped off the berth. Wandering out to the hall she was immediately greeted with the ruckus of several mechs all trying to talk to her at once. The Twins managed to catch her attention. 

“Hey 'C,” Rubbing his servo on the top of her helm, Sideswipe cackled cheerfully, “You escaped the clutches of the evil Ratchet the Hatchet! Good job!”

“I heard that, you glitch!” A faint shout from within the medbay did nothing but send the red mech howling. 

Swatting his servos away, Arcee smiled, “Hey Sides, Sunstreaker. You guys still driving Prowl up the wall?” A few hoots and chortles from the other mechs in the hall answered her question. Sunstreaker rolled his optics but failed to hide a smirk that was sneaking it's way across his face. His twin had no such issues and openly bared his sharp denta in the semblance of a smile. 

“Only on occasion.”

“Yeah, right.” Kup drawled, as he came up behind the small femme and put her in a loose headlock, ignoring her complaints and struggles to get him to let go. “You two couldn't behave and give him peace and quiet unless you were bribed.”

“Oh? Bribed with what?” Sunstreaker leaned forward curiously, optic ridges raising in question.

Bumblebee walked by, gaining a one-servo wave from Arcee, “My guess is highgrade or prank materials.”

The conversation took a severe turn as Ultra Magnus left the medbay and came up to their little gathering. Taking one look at Kup holding Arcee in a headlock, the giant blue mech frowned, “Sergeant Kup, that is not how cadets are treated.”

“I'm old enough to be their grand-creator.” An optic roll as he used his free servo to poke at her sides, tickling her, “I can act like it if I want.” He pulled the cygar out of his mouth long enough to blow out a puff of gray smoke at the Justice before shoving it back in. Magnus wrinkled his nose but made no comment about the vapor cloud. 

Shoving her elbow back, the femme gained enough room to slide out of the Kup's arm and twirl around to face him, “If this is how you treat grand-creations, I shudder to think of how you'd treat trainees you don't like.” Laughs started up with the band of hooligans gathered about and a few started shouting mild insults at the newly-awakened bots. It quieted though, as Optimus and Prowl came through and stopped before the medbay doors. 

“Wrestling is to remain in the training room.” Doorwings flicking in greeting, Prowl dipped his helm in respect to Kup and Ultra Magnus. And was then immediately pulled into a hug by the older pale green mech. “Ah! Kup.....”

“Ha! How you doing mech? It's good to see you! And Prime,” Kup turned to drag Optimus into a hug as well, “Still running helm first into fights?”

A sarcastic but delighted huff flared from the Prime's vents as he returned the hug. It had been too long since he'd last seen the ancient wildling, “I'll have you know I don't do that all the time.”

“So he says.” Called Ratchet out of sight within the medbay. 

How he could hear what was being said out in the hall when the doors were only partially open and there was chatter, no one was sure. The peanut gallery started another chorus of chortling and mockery until Prowl turned to them with a stern look. Ultra Magnus cleared his vocalizer to gain Prime's attention before speaking, “I would like to be caught up on the events we have missed.”

“Of course,” With a sweeping gesture, the blue and red siren started to steer them down the hall. 

But Kup dug his feet in, “Now wait a moment. Prime.” Everyone turned to see what was a matter. Arcee hadn't moved either, staying right new to her leader's side. “You woke up my unit.”

“Uh, yes.” Optimus' finials tilted back a little in confusion.

“My whole unit.” Kup continued, expression hardening. Ultra Magnus straightened as he realized what the wildling was getting at. The mechs around them tensed, knowing something was wrong but not knowing what. With a frown growing, Prowl intervened to explain. 

“There are only a few others still left in stasis. None are listed under your unit.”

“But where's Hot Rod?” Arcee blurted out, quickly tacking on a “sir”. 

An uneasy silence descended upon the group. Shifting uneasily, the Twins looked at Wheeljack and Bumblebee before dropping their gaze. Bumblebee worried his lower lip and refused to look anyone in the optic. Tipping his head as he checked the list, Prowl finally broke the quiet, “Hot Rod is listed under 'Assumed Dead'.”

“Why assumed?” Kup crossed his arms, armor creaking slightly as it flattened like a tire losing air. 

“Those in stasis are all listed and known. Those found dead are on the list of casualties. Those not found at all are on the 'Assumed Dead' list.” A soft sigh. “I'm sorry.”

Struggling to keep her armor from shifting, Arcee gave a quiet, “Oh.” Her plate edges started to darken to black before Kup set a warm servo on her shoulder. She squeezed her optics shut and murmured, “I....I should go tell Blurr and Springer.”

“No. Go with the others and talk to people. It'll be good for you” The older mech said gently, “I'll tell them.”

Carefully setting their servos on her elbows, the Twins steered Arcee toward the rec room where everyone else was gathered. Ultra Magnus bowed his helm for a long moment before following Prowl towards the officer meeting room. Silently, everyone else left to either join their comrades in the rec or return to their shifts. Within minutes, only Optimus and Kup remained. 

Without a word, the taller mech pulled Kup into another hug. “I'm sorry.”

“He was a good kid.” Kup pulled back and chewed harshly on one end of his cygar before giving a harsh puff, “Annoying as Pit sometimes and kept doing some dumb-aft slag.... but a good kid.”

Rubbing his tired optics, he waved the Prime off so that he was alone in the hall. After standing unmoving before the medbay door for a very long minute, he walked in. They closed with a muted click. 

.  
.

Tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap.

A yellow foot tested the floor in the rocky cavern before moving forward a yard and repeated the action again. Whey he'd gone a fair ways, Grapple cocked his head slightly and stomped the ground a little harder before turning to Hoist. “Stable.”

“The ground at least.” the pine green and gold mech agreed, “I don't like the look of that ceiling.”

Above their helms, stalactites hung down in jagged angles and broken spires. Several had already fallen, their points littering the cavern floor. Cracks ran along the larger flat stones like grasping fingers, dark even when the mechs lifted up the lights they were carrying. Smaller pebbles could be seen filling in a few of the gaps. Even as the mechs looked up, a few fell loose to clatter down. Tiny clouds of dust followed. 

“That is definitely going to collapse,” continued the visored medic. 

Grapple sighed, “I tried telling that to the officers. This whole area has to be blocked off, but Prime was insistent that we try to stabilize it.”

“Could Ironhide do it?”

“I got him down here to take a look. He said, 'It wants tah come down an' it's gonna come down. No amount'a supports are gonna fix it.' And I'm trusting him on that. At the very least, we can make sure it comes down without damaging our base.” After mimicking Ironhide's drawl, he rubbed his face tiredly. The mech crossed his arms and eyed the supporting stones with a critical optic. “We need to mark out what can drop this mess without destroying the entire inside of the volcano.”

A hum came from Hoist as he slowly checked over the right wall where several smaller tunnels started. “You're tired.” He observed. 

“Of course I'm tired.” The light English accent got stronger. “Do you know how much of the mountain I've already covered? Every single bit of what's left of our ship, all the adjoining passageways, every ceiling, wall and floor that looks the least bit unstable, which is a lot mind you. I had help fixing the doors and walls but that's only because Wheeljack's destroyed them enough times that he knows how to fix them. We need another architect or two. Someone who actually knows what they're doing aside from me.”

“Do you want to be less stressed out?” His friend asked quietly, as he pulled out a light pen to mark out weak structure points on the walls. 

Grapple groaned, “If it wouldn't be too much trouble. You don't have to.”

With a shake of his head, Hoist disagreed, “Stress isn't good for you. It's not any trouble at all.” Reaching out mentally, the empath felt the tension and anxiety practically bleeding from the yellow and black mech. Slowly he tugged it away, stretching it thin until it tattered and tore like wet paper. While the negative emotions were drained away, Hoist pulsed calm out from himself, nudging it toward Grapple if the mech wanted it. 

Empaths were not common. And the temptation to use their abilities to manipulate the people around them was terrible. How the Autobots were lucky enough to have found someone as kind and caring as Hoist who didn't abuse his powers, no one was quite sure. But they were extremely grateful.

With an easy sigh, Grapple accepted the emotion that was not his and allowed it to put him in a better mood. “Thank you.”

“Huh,” Hoist was distracted from replying as a large gaping hole in the floor caught his attention. It was farther back and hard to see in the dim light they were carrying. “Is this going to be an issue?”

Walking over, Grapple knelt to get a better look. Running his servos carefully over the edges of the crack that was barely as wide as his chest, the crane truck hummed. He tapped the ground around it, nodding as he noted it's stability and then leaned forward to peer downward into the pit. “You know, I believe there's a light down there.”

“Probably lava.”

“Yes but....” Grapple shuffled onto his front to get a better look, “Hang on.... There's something down there.”

Rocking back on his heels, Hoist couldn't help but peer over his friends shoulder, even knowing he wouldn't be able to see with the mech blocking the hole, “What sort of something?”

“I'm not sure. Lets dim the lights.”

The lanterns were flicked off. Hoist dimmed his visor until the yellow light was barely perceptible and only the fainest wash of blue could be seen highlighting Grapple's optics and upper cheek structure. Scooting around so they were on opposite sides of the chamber opening. Grapple stuck his helm back down for a long moment before he sat up and gestured for the green mech to take a look. Since he didn't have a large support structure around his helm like the architect, Hoist was able to lean down farther. 

Without the stronger lights, the muted glow of soft orange and golds was much more apparent. As was the creature curled up in the middle of the warm stones below. 

Hoist stared for a long moment before pulling himself up and looking blankly at Grapple. They stayed silent and still for a long moment before the medic spoke, words hushed as they understood they were no longer alone in the depths of the mountain. “That's a suncore.”

“Yes.”

“There is a mech down there.”

“Yes.”

Another moment of silence, broken by Grapple's quiet insistence, “We have to tell high command..... I'll stay here to keep watch.” He brightened his optics, blue lighting up the groaning rocks above. This far back and down, the metal of the ship and trace elements in the rock disrupted the comm links. They'd get nothing but static if they tried to use them now. 

Nodding, Hoist carefully stood and turned on a lantern, quickly heading back they way they'd come, “I'll be back soon.”

Without another word, he was around the corner of the tunnel and gone. 

.  
.

In hardly any time at all, the back cavern housed a number of people. All of which were arguing and muttering to themselves in low voices lest a loud sound bring the boulders down on their helms. 

“We'll have to widen the entrance. I think it would be a tight fit for even a minibot right now.” Grapple explained. 

Ironhide crossed his arms, thick limbs of stone with darker crevices carved in swirls at the joints. “Did ya get a good look at the inside a' the chamber? It ain't gonna stay up if yah start diggin' at it.”

“Well, do you have a better plan?”

“How did he get in there in the first place?” Ratchet growled, very unhappy with the entire ordeal. Standing by the hole, the medic lifted his lamp higher and squinted down into the pit as if he could see if the mech was injured from all the way up here. “Blast, there's not enough light down there to get a good look.”

Pulling a crystal chunk out of his chest, Ironhide rubbed it until it was glowing a strong white and dropped it down. Rolling a little, the makeshift light settled near the sleeping suncore. “Rocks 'ave been shiftin'. It was probly bigger awhile ago. Maht not have even bin a'chamber at all a'fore. This whole thin's been collapsin' in for at least a couple centuries.”

Being a stone elemental, Ironhide was the go-to expert when it came to rocks and mountains of almost all kinds. Even earth ones. He was one of the few that was positively gleeful that their base was in one at the moment. 

“Hmrph.” Ratchet peered down, “He doesn't appear severely injured. Although he undoubtedly needs energon. I understand how he got in. My problem is how far back we are.”

“The crash could have thrown him and/or his stasis pod quite a ways,” supplied Prowl, examining the ceiling above. The black parts of his plating were nearly impossible to see with how little light was available. Only his optic glow and the muted whites on his armor showed were he was standing. “We're just past the very front of the ship. Or what would have been the front. If his stasis pod was on the far side of the stasis room, the crash could have carried him.....”

Turning around, the black and white studied the tunnel, “....roughly ten yards back. He would have had to move on his own.”

“There's heat coming from the rocks. He would have been drawn to it, injured or in shock as I assume he was.” Sighing, Ratchet straightened. “And we'll have to widen the hole. He's on the small side but it's still not big enough for him to climb out of.”

Ironhide was not happy and rumbled his displeasure with the grinding noise of boulders. Everyone else flinched and looked up, thinking the ceiling was coming in before they realized it was the red and gray mech. 

“Ironhide!” Hissed the medic angrily like a startled cat.

He had enough shame to look chastised, “Sorry. How's about we wake the kid up first and then open the hole as he's comin' out? That way if it starts tah cave we kin move real fast?” There were nods of agreement as they all gathered around the opening. Hoist voiced what they were all thinking. 

“The question would be how to wake him up.”

“I'm going to assume stasis protocols are still in place. And definitely exhaustion from lack of energy. The heat has been keeping him alive, but it's not enough energy.” Ratchet tapped a finger on his hip as he thought. 

Prowl tilted his helm, “You assume?” 

“He's a suncore.” Snorting, the medic explained, “Protocols are always a toss up with them. It would honestly be easier if they just had a difficult reaction to them like elementals but I have no idea if they're working. Obviously they disengaged long enough for him to move but I don't know if they reengaged or if they're even on at all.”

“So someone has to go down there.”

Rubbing his chin in thought, Prowl came up with a solution, “Arcee. She is a pooka.”

“She could easily change shape to fit through.” Finished Ironhide, “I'll go get her.” With that, he turned away towards the main base. Ratchet narrowed his optics at the SIC. 

“He's Hot Rod, isn't he? Kup mentioned the kid being a suncore.”

A sigh as Prowl stared down at the slumbering mech below them, the suncore unaware of the audience he had gained, “I believe so. There was only one other suncore listed on the crew and that mech's body was found.”

“For the sake of Kup and his crew, I hope that it's him.”

Little more was said until Ironhide returned with Arcee, Springer, and Optimus in tow. Staying out of the way, the Prime joined Hoist by the wall as he watched the proceedings. Even as Prowl scowled at Ironhide for bringing more people to the already crowded area, Kup joined them. Throwing his servos in the air as if to say, 'Fine. Do whatever you like', Prowl gestured at Optimus for help. 

He only shrugged. Mediating, Grapple spoke up, “As long as no one causes the rocks to shake and we keep our noise level down, I believe we'll be fine.” 

Pushing past all the arguing mechs, Kup knelt by the gap in the floor and looked down, “Yep. That's the kid alright.” Even in the half dark, everyone could plainly hear or see the smile he was wearing. 

“Damn it, Hot Rod!” Snapped Arcee quietly as Springer started laughing. Unsure if she was relieved he was alive or mad at him, the femme ended up scowling. She hit her fists together, “I'm gonna kick his aft when he's out of this. How dare he make us think he's dead. I don't like my friends being dead!”

“Be glad you have the chance to smack some sense into him at all.” Ratchet advised her sagely. 

Giving a harsh cough to gain their attention, their unit leader waved the two younger bots over, “Alright. Arcee, I know you can get through. Springer?”

The younger green mech made a negative regretful sound as he examined the whole, “If my alt didn't have wings I probably could.”

Everyone shuffled to the side to allow Arcee plenty of room. Stretching slightly, the femme shifted to her smallest form. Pink armor darkened to black and stretched, folding in on itself and collapsing until a four-legged beast the size of a large dog stood in her place. Similar in form to a wild hare with a whip-thin tail, Arcee twitched the side panels chock full of sensors just behind her helm to gather sounds before scampering forward on crouched legs. 

With a careful hop, she jumped into the chamber. Her feet stung as she landed harshly. “At least it's not very deep.” 

It was warm though. Above they had barely felt the hot air rising past them but down here it practically cloaked her. Perspiration gathered on her cooler armor as the dark metal heated. She lit her large optics to their full setting, the glow illuminating the walls and the crystal Ironhide had tossed down. The ground beneath her feet was hot, almost too hot, and as she crept forward carefully, Arcee noted the open cracks in the flooring where molten rock could be seen just below. It gave the open space an orange tinted glow. Her large audios flared to gather more information before snapping back down. Sulfur. Tremors below but very faint. The right wall of the chamber had too many cracks and looked like it would fall at any minute. Best to stay away from that one. 

In front, the resting suncore. Arcee sighed. He looked alright, just unconscious. 

Imagine a European dragon, those ones with four legs and long necks and tails. But the legs looked more like a birds and had burnished carmine feathers starting halfway up, meeting with thin oblong shaped plating that overlapped. The larger plating of his body was partially transparent, showing off the slowing twisting golden flames inside his core. 

Instead of a long scaled tail, there was a magnificent plume of feathers. Faceplates stretched and curved down almost into a beak but not quite. Atop that helm, another plume sat, although not as splendid as the tail. The edges of the feathers glowed the same soft gold as his flames. Curled on his side with optics shuttered, Hot Rod's back legs were pulled up towards his chest, front ones stretched down so his claws hung off the flat stone he rested on. He didn't even twitch as Arcee came closer, lost somewhere in dreaming.

They called them suncores because their core was made of fire, not spark. Unlike the lava elementals, they didn't go to molten rock. No, they felt called to open flames. Sometimes their inside fires consumed them, flaring out as if they were a sun formed into a mortal creature. 

Yet now, no flames glimmered between the mech's scales. No flickers tried to dance atop his crest and beneath his paws. 

And when Arcee carefully set her own tiny paw on his flank, the warmth of his armor didn't burn her as it should have. Transforming back to root mode, the femme tried to shake her friend awake. “Hey! Hot Rod, wake up!”

No response. 

She growled, starting to become frustrated as she grabbed at his shoulder pauldrons and gave a harsh tug. That always got him up before. “Now is not a good time to be lazy. Come ooooonnnnn.....”

“Arcee.” She looked behind and up towards the hole where Ratchet's face was visible, “If he's not responding, the stasis protocols are probably still active. He needs a shock to his systems so they realize he's in danger and back off.” The words were hushed but still carried to the back of the mountain cave. 

Her foot nudged one of his hind legs slightly to the side as she settled into a more comfortable crouch. After a few seconds of hard thought, the pooka carefully rolled him fully onto his front and wrapped her servos around the feather flaring at his shoulders. They could've been mistaken for wings, and sometimes where, but it was just plumage. 

Still hurt like a demon when they were injured. 

Leaning forward, Arcee muttered a quick apology before biting down hard with her partially sharp denta. A sickening crunch yielded how deep she'd torn into the delicate metal. With a painful whistling moan, the suncore stirred.

His claws scratched at the rock slab weakly, a tea-kettle sound ripping from his muzzle as he tried to lift his head. Optics opened a smidge, a glow of sparks caught in amber. Arcee was quick to yank his helm toward her and urge him up, “Get up!” She hissed as loudly as she dared, “Hurry! No! Slagggit, don't you dare go back to sleep! Get up Hot Rod!”

Helm drooping, he'd started to fall still again before a rough shake of his helm startled a keen from him. On scrambling legs, he hunched forward, paws slipping as the mech tried to remember how to stand. 

“Good! Yes, come on. We have to move!” Arcee's voice accidentally rose in excitement as she ushered the woozy suncore forward. 

He managed to get his front feet off the slab before a humongous groan within the mountain shook the rocks above them. A sharp crunch from the right wall made the pooka jump. She froze, armor starting to rattle with nerves as Hot Rod bumped against her shoulder in dizziness. Slumping forward, he started to fall back into recharge right there until she dug her servos into his shoulder plumage. A hurt yip burst from the suncore to echo around the small cavern.

“That rumbling was not Ironhide.” Grapple called down solemnly in a low tone. 

Arcee winced, “I gathered....” She turned to Hot Rod, “Hey, we're on a mission, okay? There's Autobots above. Kup and Springer too. We have to get to them, okay?” She tugged on one of the tiny horns just in front of his helm plume. 

“...-cee?” A slurred mutter.

“Yeah, it's me. Come on. We have to go up.” She urged him forward, avoiding the heated cracks that criss-crossed the floor. Scrambling and weaving back and forth as he tried to go in a straight line and failed, Hot Rod suddenly paused to turn his helm at her drunkenly.

“...mission?”

It was a relief that he seemed to understand some of what she was saying and respond to it, “Yeah. We have to go up through that hole.” A gesture at the opening above them as they stopped. Several of the Autobots could be seen, gathering around the crack. 

Grapple called down again, “Ironhide and I will widen it. Springer, Optimus, and Magnus are going to lift you up.” He explained, even as a thick net with attached ropes was tossed down. When Magnus had joined the party, Arcee didn't know or care but was extremely thankful that the large bot was there to pull them up. She didn't weigh much but Hot Rod in his trueform wasn't exactly small. 

As she opened the netting and tried to push the suncore into it, he started to struggle woozily. “NO Hot Rod. Stay there. You have to stay in the netting.” She explained. 

A curious and confused noise curled from his throat, “What......-rrrr we doing?” Tipping back, almost to the point where he fell over, Hot Rod stared up at the bots, “Up? Right,....going up.”

“Yes. We're going up.”

As soon as he looked like he wasn't going to fuss, the mechs above lifted the netting enough that the sides came up to enclose the suncore in it. He immediately started moving around, tail flaring and lashing around with a disgruntled look. Optics widened and brightened in dazed panic. His friend started to hiss at him but Kup called down, “Hold still kid.”

Unquestioningly, he did. Even if he didn't know why. Kup was in charge and Arcee had told him it was a mission, so obviously he had to follow orders. 

That didn't mean he was comfortable as the net lifted from the floor, wrapping around him tightly like a second skin. While the drowsy mech shivered and tried to fight the stasis protocols, Arcee shifted back to her smaller form, lunging forward to hook her paws through the holes in the mesh as they rose. “Hey Hot Rod,” she batted at his face to get his attention, “We're Kup's grand-creations now.”

It was a good distraction, odd enough to for him to focus on as he swung his muzzle around to look at her, “....When'd that happen?” 

“A couple days ago.”

Grapple and Ironhide started tearing at the hole, widening it so the pair could pass through without a struggle. Tremors rocked the chamber below. Ratchet shouted at the mechs to be careful as the ground around the opening started to buckle. Pebbles and rock chunks cascaded down in a steady rain, forcing Arcee to duck her head into the netting, tail wrapping through it for extra support.

“Move back!” 

Hoist yanked Prowl sideways as the floor beneath him crumpled inward. They were behind the others gathered around the opening, trying not to be in the way. Several stalactites cracked and fell, breaking upon the mech's shoulders and shattering on the floor like discarded blocks. 

They all paused for a moment, rock dust swirling in and out of their vents as everyone save for the group lifting moved back carefully. Another faint quake moaned deeply beneath their feet, a sea beast reminding sailors it was still there under the waves. With a grunt, Springer's foot started to slip toward the enlarged hole but he quickly scooted back. 

Slowly, carefully, Optimus and the others heaved the suncore up out of the hole. In seconds, he was pulled toward safer ground while the netting was yanked off and the mechs started to sigh in relief. Arcee had just climbed off and transformed when the group managed to free Hot Rod. 

Before anyone could do anything else, Kup grabbed the younger mech by his tiny horns and dragged his face up towards his own. “Kid, I'm glad you're alive.”

“.......?” Hot Rod let out a confused warble as Ratchet urged him to transform to root mode so he could turn off the protocols. 

Ultra Magnus ducked under some particularly long stalactites as he backed up to the wall so there was plenty of room for everyone, “Even in stasis he manages to get into trouble.”

“Hey, it's not like he did it on purpose.” With a laugh, Springer pulled his friend into a partial hug-partial headlock, ignoring Ratchet's blistering swears of annoyance.

Finally convincing the mech to transform, the medic had just managed to turn off the protocols when Hot Rod collapsed on the ground on his back, “Ugggggghhhh, I feel awful.” Noting Springer near his legs, the maroon and gold youngster gave a sharp kick. Springer startled.

“What was that for?!”

The adults all made loud shushing noises as another rumble echoed above and below them. Once it settled, Hot Rod answered dully, “Not finding me sooner.”

“Not finding you-I was in STASIS until two days ago you UNGRATEFUL IDIOT. And then I was told you were dead!” Hissing insults on his friends intelligence and battle prowess, the green mech started swearing something pretty colorful as Ultra Magnus rumbled at him to keep his mouth clean and Hot Rod himself started to chuckle. With a sigh, Arcee traded looks with Kup who only smirked and lifted the suncore up so he was standing. Albeit wobbly and leaning heavily on his unit leader like a drunk, but it still counted as standing. 

“Off to the medbay now, enough of that.” Ratchet came up behind them, neatly slapping the backs of both Hot Rod's and Springer's helms. The mechlings grunted and made wounded noises but didn't argue. “Arcee, good job.” A solemn remark to the femme as they started moving. 

Giving a nod in return, the pooka shook herself to get rid of the last of her nerves and went to Hot Rod's other side in case he tried going back into recharge while they were walking. Optimus signaled Grapple and Ironhide to bring the cavern down as soon as everyone was clear so no one else could get hurt. As the group moved out, Hot Rod's voice rose loudly above the clatter of their feet and bounced against the walls. 

“What the slag did I miss?!”

And then there was a sharp clang as the medic slapped the back of his helm again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is pretty sure Kup's cygars are magic. They're just not sure how. Or what they do. 
> 
> Suncore: Somewhat like a phoenix dragon. They are very pretty and often a little vain like crystal dragons. Tend to set themselves on fire when cornered and when they are completely grown, are rather large. Almost as large as a sphinx. There is a huge debate if they're elemental or otherkin. The Suncore's themselves generally don't care. 
> 
> Justice: Mystic. Can always tell when people are lying and can't lie themselves. However, they are very good at twisting their words so it seems like they're saying one thing when they're really saying something else. Always have a very large scale that is sometimes used as a weapon. Beings of law and order, they make it their duty to keep balance and peace wherever they are. If there's an argument, find a Justice. They are always impartial when it comes to settling things. 
> 
> Pooka: Otherkin. A sibling species to the Kelpie, Pooka are limited in form only by what they can manage. Their other forms are always black, which sometimes leads others to mistake them for a Blackdog if one of their forms is similar in shape to it. Arcee has two other forms, a wild hare with a long thin tail and a equine form. On the rare occasion and in emergencies, she might be able to shift into her third form, similar to Bluestreak's canid alt but more like a bear than anything else. 
> 
> Empath: Mental. Pick up on how others are feeling and can manipulate those emotions. Hoist only manipulates others feelings when there's an emergency in the medbay and a patient needs to calm down so they don't hurt themselves or others. He does have to careful though. If he's in a place with a lot of people all feeling similar emotions, they can subtly influence how he himself is feeling. 
> 
> Stone Elemental: Large, rough dark gray mechanoid shape with lines carved into swirls along his body and between the limbs. Spots of crystals sometimes appear on his “skin”. While guardian's are warm stone to the touch, stone elementals are cold. They prefer to live in and around mountains. If they feel threatened, they can merge with a mountain (depending on it's size) and become bigger. 
> 
> Next chapter, Decepticons.......


	11. Fractured Planes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on the Decepticon side of things.... *plays g1 music*

“I'm surprised you bothered to ask.”

“And what? Just start without asking him? Or did you forget that he kicked you all into the ocean a couple times?”

Skywarp snorted, whether in mild amusement from the memory or annoyance at their leader, it was impossible to say. Leaning one elbow joint against the corner of the hallway in a lazy manner, the mech shrugged. “Dunno what else you're going to do then.”

“I don't either.” Scavenger's resonant voice rose in pitch, a whine creeping into the alto chimes, “Nothing I do cheers up the others. Everybody's grumpy.”

It wasn't for lack of trying that the youngest Construction couldn't pull the others out of their gloom. He'd plotted and planned all sorts of things to get them to look at the bright side, but they refused. Smuggled extra rations, bits of broken glass he'd stolen from humans, shiny baubles, and all the usual things that kept the crystal kin happy did little but quiet them for a bit. Scrapper on the other servo barely said a word unless it was necessary. Hook at least, had the most right to sullenness because of his shattered optic band. 

The crash of the Decepticon flag ship had not been kind to all of them. 

Spat out of the collapsing space bridge, both the Ark and the Nemesis had no time to pull up as they entered the fiery atmosphere with a one-way ticket to hitting the planet at almost maximum force. Even if there had been time, neither had working engines or undamaged thrusters to slow their descent. A few hundred thousand feet in the air, the ships had fell away from each other, no one at the controls as flashing lights and sirens warned the panicking mechs that they were about to die. When their flight ended with the screams of the ships being torn apart and an almighty upheaval, both sides had been immediately tossed into the darkness of stasis lock. 

The Autobots were lucky enough to hit land (although if most of their ship was gone, was it still luck?). Smashing into the ocean nearby and settling into the silty sea floor, the Nemesis had only shattered into several large pieces, most still intact. It was only good fortune for the grunts of the Decepticon army that much of the inside of the ship had automatically closed off upon breaking to keep the water out. Cleaning what little had gotten in was bad enough. 

But “The Crash” as it was now referred to, had left it's mark on more than the ship. Some had died, during the fight prior and during landing. Everyone else had light damage that was healing. Hook's optic band wasn't a high priority to anyone but the Constructicons because it was a wound that would heal itself. 

And it would heal itself a lot faster if they had a crystal garden. Which they didn't, because they were at the bottom of the ocean in a damp and creaky old ship. 

No sunlight. No rays to light up their inner planes and fractures. Their colors looked horribly dark and scratched in the dim yellow glow of the base. Too few metal components right for crystal growing and too many other mechs around that were likely to break their garden as soon as someone started a brawl. 

Scavenger didn't want a garden here anyways. Gardens to crystal elementals where what the sky was to wind elementals. It was home and safe and it gave them power. This dark and tense enclosed place filled with other dangerous beings was not for them. 

They could have made one above the waves, on the rock outcroppings that dotted the waters just south of their base. But Megatron liked sunbathing too much as manticore's often do, and wasn't willing to give up any space. Their leader always had the lion's share of whatever was available, be it energon, weapons, or in this case, tiny islands for lounging on. The seekers had already tried to claim some of them with no good results. Although Scavenger had the sneaky suspicion that Skywarp didn't mind getting kicked off the higher cliffs into the water and viewed it as some weird form of entertainment. 

Giving a forlorn chime, the green and purple mech slumped against the wall as Skywarp flapped his translucent wings gently, ringing back. Looking like a curse of mischief given form, the violet and black dragon glittered, even in the horrid lighting and in bipedal mode. Darker armor blended in well with the shadows, dark enough to drown in with flashes of mineral planes when he moved. A pale lavender and vivid crimson fire lit within his optics. They stared out from that never-ending abyss of inky violet. Skywarp was anticipation, standing on the edge of something erratic and dangerous, the tips of your toes balancing right there in that in between place while you wondered if you'd come out on top with the high of victory or be dragged down.

He was also one of Scavenger's best friends. If Decepticons had friends. Which they didn't. They weren't sissy Autobots after all. And the other Constructicons didn't count as friends because they were kin.

“Want to mess with the Stunticons? It'll cheer you up.” A crooked grin with a hint of needle-like teeth showing. Aha. There was the completely random answer that was obviously a bad idea but could actually be entertaining. If they didn't get eaten. 

Groaning, Scavenger pulled his armor plates tighter around himself, “You mean it'll cheer you up. When they're chasing me around the base.”

“Nooooooo.” The other moaned in ill-concealed glee, optics sparkling, “Megs is in control of them. He won't let them kill us unless we do something stupid.”

“Like antagonizing them in the first place.” 

A new scratchy voice startled them. Scavenger relaxed again as Scrapper ambled up to place an elbow on the shorter mech's shoulder plate. Seemingly stoic with a face mask and optic band, one could see where many got the impression that the lead mech was impassive. But if anyone looked at the little things, the way his feet shifted in impatience, the way his fingers were held together loosely and hips leaning slightly to the side in lazy amusement, then it would be easy to realize he expressed a lot of emotions. They were just more subtle. Where Skywarp was lightning in a bottle, crackling just under the surface, Scrapper was calm and steady. The feeling of ground beneath your feet and boulders against your back to hold you up. The younger Constructicon leaned just slightly against his kin even though it looked like the leader was pressing his weight upon the other mech. 

“And you can fly away.” An emphasis on Skywarp's bat-like wings as the fluorite mech continued steadily. Scavenger not being flight capable unsaid but not unheard. 

Giving a half shrug, Skywarp wiggled his digits, “I wouldn't let them get him. Besides, they're not that scary.”

A moment of silence as the Constructicons stared at him silently. Even with all of their features covered by visors and masks, it was impossible not to realize they were expressing looks of disbelief.

“Well, they're not.” The dragon insisted petulantly. 

Deciding an argument wasn't worth the effort or helm ache, Scrapper gave a half nod, not really agreeing but at least acknowledging the seeker's statement. Pulling away from Scavenger enough to put a heavy servo on his shoulder and tug him back, the mech bid Skywarp goodbye. “He can't join your nonsense right now. We have patrol.”

“Aaawwwhhh...”whined the seeker, “Guess I'll see what TC's up too.” With a final departing wave, Skywarp whirled and started off with a hop in his steps, no doubt already thinking up some chaos to inflict upon anyone unlucky enough to catch his attention for more than a moment or two. 

Mildly confused, Scavenger tilted his helm at the other Constructicon, even as he was led toward the large exit hangar. “We did patrol earlier.”

“Hook and Long Haul are at each other's throats.” They stepped through the doors of the hangar to find the other three mechs waiting on the platform, suspended only a few feet above the crashing waves, “And we need to make glamours.”

Out in the daylight rays, the crystal elements gleamed. Stripes of muted lavender and large swatches of lively grass green banded through their plating, some of it partially translucent. Scavenger chimed at them in greeting, enjoying the way they sparkled and shined. The spray from the water below glittered like diamonds on their surfaces. Unfortunately, no one chimed back as they were too busy arguing. 

“I don't want to go. It's our time off and I want to go back to recharge.” Snapped Bonecrusher.

Hook made an odd noise, some sort of huff that the medic picked up somewhere or another. They'd all learned it meant he was annoyed, “You hardly need recharge. And if you are out of our room we won't have to worry about you destroying things all the time.” As he turned slightly, the large and deep spiderweb of cracks along his visor was highlighted by the sun, rough citrine edges glittering in pretty but solemn trauma. 

“I don't break things every time!” 

“You don't need recharge either.” Added in Mixmaster, not really paying attention to the bickering. The only one without a visor, his amber optics remained glued to some weird little gadget in his servos instead. Long Haul remained silent and merely held his faceplates in his palm. Perhaps he was weary of the rest of his kin. Perhaps someone had punched him and he was nursing a wound. Or both. It was a fifty-fifty chance. 

Bonecrusher seemed to swell up, plating shifting to make himself look bigger, “You don't know how much recharge I need!” The latter part of his shout quieted as they all spotted Scrapper coming up beside them. The slightest dip of their leader's helm had everyone shifting to an apologetic (but not really) stance, optics glancing toward one another under their visors as they waited. Except Hook. With a dismissive look, the mech crossed his arms. 

And Long Haul lifted his helm. Yep. He'd gotten punched. The small crack would heal within an hour or so. 

“Why are we doing another patrol?!” Demanded Hook, as a particularly high waves crashed against the bottom of the platform, causing it to shudder.

“Yeah!” Chimed in Bonecrusher and Mixmaster, the latter finally paying more attention. 

One optic ridge rose. The tilt of Scrapper's helm gave away the fact that he was smirking beneath his face mask, “Because we're looking for a place to grow a garden.”

The absolute glee that lit up the Constructicon's faces was completely worth the complaints and infighting that had built up over the last couple weeks.

 

A few hundred miles away from where they were supposedly patrolling, the mechs roamed the long empty roads of South Dakota. Praying to the gods of luck and sneakiness, they hoped none of the others noticed their absence from the coast. If worse came to worse, they could claim they were checking out potential places for an energon raid. Even if they were much farther east than the Decepticons had explored so far. 

Having shifted their crystalline bodies into vehicles shapes, adding stolen tires, and tossing a glamour over top, they were quite confident that they were blending in. Especially once Mixmaster figured out that humans honked at each other in greeting. 

The Constructicons took great delight in honking loudly back at whoever beeped at them. 

Swerving around the road in giddy excitement, Scavenger copied a tanker that blew it's horn. The bigger truck slowed down just in time to avoid a collision as the alien in disguise pulled aside at the last second. He started laughing while Scrapper nudged the reckless mech forward, ignoring the excited chatter that had not died since they'd run for the hills so to speak. There weren't many hills here. In fact, it was quite flat with a lot of tall grass and occasional trees. 

“Will you turn that off?!” Demanded Bonecrusher.

In the middle of the convoy, Long Haul gave a shrill of insult, mineral planes scraping together. The object of his kin's annoyance being the radio in his front seat. Scavenger had picked it up along the way and astonishingly quickly, the other mech had taken a liking for the human contraption. Unfortunately, not everyone enjoyed pop music. 

This was the fifth time in two hours Scrapper had had to intervene so no one could fight, “Turn it down. As long as it's below twenty decibels, the music can stay on.”

“That noise,” Hook muttered, “can hardly be called music.”

“Well I like it, so shut up!”

All the snippy bickering agitated Scavenger, “Guys, come one, let's not fight. We're looking for a garden, remember?” They rounded a shallow curve, Bonecrusher turning too late so his treads could tear up the ground off the road. 

Trying to help keep them focused and on task, Mixmaster piped up, “Why don't we check out over there?” He stopped and transformed, dropping the glamour as his body realigned, “There's no human buildings for miles, it's secluded, and relatively protected.” The others slowed to a stop to take a look. Rising sharply off to the east, the ground folded into small barren hills, jutting cliffs not much bigger than themselves while little groupings of trees tried to make some stand against the mass of wild grasses and shrubs. Avians chattered loudly. Only to the far north could they make out the distant blurry silhouettes of human buildings, probably a farm. 

“Worth a shot, I suppose.” Long Haul shrugged, finally turning off the radio. 

The others left the pavement to examine the wild organic landscape. Bonecrusher wiggled his servos into the dirt, “Oooh, traces of oil.”

“Iron deposits! Copper and zinc too!” Squealed Scavenger as he spun around a large maple and twirled on one foot. Flopping back against the ground, the mech sighed. “Can we make one here? It's sunny and way better than the ship.”

Everyone looked at each other. Hook sniffed. Bonecrusher booed, there not being enough destroyed metals and shattered ground to his liking. Sitting up, Scavenger stared at the others hopefully. Looking at their leader, the rest shrugged. After a long moment of walking up and down the smaller hills, judging the stones that rose higher to their right, and leaning down to duck under the hanging branches, Scrapper shuffled his shoulder plates as fingers tapped against his thigh. “We've worked with worse. The open rock structures are good.”

“Whoooooo!!!!” Pumping his fists in the air, Scavenger jumped up faster than any of the others had seen him move in a long time. The last time might have been when he'd been running from some really hungry sharkticons. That had been an experience.

“Well, what are we doing standing here?” Demanded Long Haul, as he pulled tools from subspace. “Let's get moving!”

“I hate this place.” Hook snapped with no warning. 

Pausing in hurried motion to get started, the others glanced at each other. Hesitantly, which was pretty rare for him, Bonecrusher piped up, “Like Scrapper said, it could be worse.” He was ignored. The injured of their group just started yanking weeds out of the way aggressively. 

Quietly, the group cleared the ground and started to lay down powders. They almost didn't hear Hook continue as Mixmaster stirred the chemicals to activate the crystal growing process, “These materials are subpar. Nothing at all like Cybertron. I don't see why we are wasting our time.”

“But we're not on Cybertron.” Scavenger replied sadly as he stopped digging holes, “It could be gone.”

“For all we know.” Finished Long Haul.

“That's the point!” Slapping his servos against the dirt ground as if the very planet had offended him (and it had), Hook straightened and balled his fists. Clear denta flashed in the sun when he snarled, “This is not Cybertron!”

“Hook.” 

Like a deflating balloon, the mech sullenly grew quiet. The purple bands of his armor deepened and started to shift. Scrapper waited a moment more before he spoke again, “You are right. This isn't Cybertron. But we need a garden. It doesn't matter where it is. This is what we have to work with.”

When all their medic did was hang his head, the leader took two steps closer. A dip of a helm, tipped slightly to the left imploringly. He shifted his weight to his other leg. With a final sigh, Hook gave a weary nod, “Alright.”

Exchanging relieved glances, they made awkward superficial small talk as they worked until the group started to relax and really cheer up. Teasing and light bickering jumped between them. That included one rather rude question asking Bonecrusher if he still wanted a nap since he apparently needed more recharge than the others. He threw a small boulder at the group in response. They'd all settled into a steady work routine and have made some good progress for a couple hours when their chemist made an observation. 

“Isn't that odd?” Mixmaster nudged Long Haul's crouched form.

The latter was keeping a keen optic on the chemical and metal-flake mixture that they'd stirred up earlier and put into copper bowls. Now it was a waiting game to help the crystals grow by keeping them warm and away from anything that could shatter them. Like the weather phenomenon Mixmaster had just noticed. Long Haul turned his helm toward the horizon sharply. “It is. What is it, do you think?”

“Just wind.” Hook muttered, “It's making the trees shake.”

None of them had paid any attention to the air currents flattening the grass and shaking the branches around their helms wildly. Why should they? It's not like wind could damage them, tough crystal elementals that they were. Although the darkening clouds felt a little uneasy, earth rain wasn't overly acidic. They'd be fine. 

“But it looks weird.” Tipping his helm, Scavenger made a face under his mask. “Like an upside-down cone. Why's it doing that?”

“How the frag should we know?” Bonecrusher demanded, throwing a shovel at the shorter mech.

Smaller twigs and branches started to snap off and fall on them, some being tossed around in the air before landing. The Constructicons crouched over the start of their garden, keeping the organic components out. Scrapper studied the spinning cloud for a silent moment before making a snap decision, “Put the tools away. Gather what you can.”

“What?!” Bellowed Bonecrusher

Whipping back around to look at their leader, Mixmaster stared as if he must have heard wrong, “Boss, the chemical reaction has already started. If they don't sit for awhile, the crystals won't grow. We'll have to start over.” Dismayed whines from the others echoed his worry. 

Fingers tightening in frustration, their leader replied sadly, “That wind is tearing up the ground. The crystals will be destroyed anyways. We need to move.”

All six glanced at the tornado heading towards them, noticing the way the cyclone picked up debris from below. By now, it was close enough that they could see it carrying larger objects like small trees, parts of buildings and unidentifiable objects. They looked down at the garden, what they'd worked so hard to start, and back at the tornado. Long Haul swore softly, getting louder as the seconds ticked by. 

“It's getting bigger.” A solemn statement from Hook, who had given up caring at his point. He stuffed their digging tools into his subspace. 

Long Haul corrected him, “It's getting closer.”

“Both.” Snapped Scrapper. “Now move.”

While everyone else scrambled to save their tools and pack up what items they'd left lying around, Bonecrusher straightened and headed away from the group. Immediately noticing, Scrapper called him back. “Bonecrusher.”

“No.”

Taken aback, the others raised their own voices against the growing howl of the windstorm. “What the frag are you doing?!” “Get back here mech!”

“No no no!” Stomping so hard he left small craters in the soft earth, the big fluorite mech stopped just past the edges of their claimed territory and crossed his arms. The trees around them creaked ominously. Staring right at the tornado, Bonecrusher growled loudly, “This is our garden and no earth weather is going to take it from us.”

“What, are you going to fight it?!” Scavenger had to raise his voice to a shout to be heard. The cyclone drew closer as if the argument had called it. It was only a couple hundred yards away, towering above their helms. Twisting around partially, the brawler of the group gave them all a harsh look, visor lit brightly and body language screaming that he wasn't going to back down.

Pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge, Hook sent up a weary prayer to Primus, “You can not be serious.”

“It's not alive, you idiot!” Mixmaster hollered, “You can't fight it!”

“Watch me!” Was the only reply. 

“Oh, that glitch.” “Whyyyyyy.......” “Slaggit 'Crusher, don't be stupid!”

Their yelling was swallowed by the roar of nature's fury. Bonecrusher turned back around to stare up at his opponent, thus suddenly realizing that the windstorm was much much bigger than he was. And had moved faster than he expected. Dirt, leaves, and other scrap whipped through the air around them. He dug his feet in, body tense. No bit of earth weather was going to move him. 

Until it did. 

The elemental started to slide backwards, limbs scrambling to balance as the storm pushed against him. Startled squawks behind him said the others were dealing with the same problem. 

Bonecrusher stared up at the dark and looming massive cloud and felt an instant of regret. 

 

It was awhile before they actually moved. Groaning as they lay among the strewn trash and dirt like tossed aside children's toys, they were quite content to stay as they were. Why was the weather on this planet so vicious?! Cybertron never had anything as crazy as tornadoes. At least not the part where they had lived. Sure, electrical storms and all that. But not crazy strong winds that spun into a funnel and threw mechs around like they were scrap! 

Earth weather: 1. Constructicons: 0. Maybe they could convince the Combaticon idiots to go play in a windstorm....

No one actually sat up until Scrapper gave a sharp order.

The drive back to base was sullenly quiet, broken only by Scavenger moaning nearly silently in despair to himself about how unfair it was that the whole universe was against them having a garden. Bonecrusher hung in the back as punishment without their leader having to say a word. The fact that Scrapper wasn't speaking to the bigger mech or even acknowledging his presence spoke volumes about how unhappy he was. At the very least, they hadn't run into any Autobots. No one was in the mood to deal with that sort of mess to top it all off. 

Almost halfway through the journey back to base, avoiding the larger highways and taking the back-roads through northern Idaho, Hook decided he'd had enough. Or just wasn't going back to base. None of them were sure. 

Either way, the mech slammed on his brakes when they were coming down a mountain road and shifted, dropping his glamour. Ignoring the confused calls, he walked sharply off the pavement and into the forest. The others scrambled to catch up. Scrapper came last, rubbing his face in exhaustion at the fact that his kin could not stop themselves from doing spontaneous stupid things without telling him first. 

The crystal mechs blended in surprisingly well with the foliage and shade spots, perhaps because their plating was dull now that it was scratched up. No shine gave away their position, only movement. The group nearly lost sight of Hook several times as he had a good several yards lead on them. It helped that he wasn't actually trying to lose them. But he didn't respond to their yelling either. 

Finally, after ten minutes of tromping through thorny brush and cedars, Scavenger managed to snag the medic's elbow, “Where are you going?!”

Hook brushed him off, emitting a rumbled warning.

But it gave enough time to Long Haul to catch up. Crashing over rotted logs, he lunged in front of the irate mech and planted himself in his path. The procession came to a halt, the entire group finally in one spot as Scrapper brought up the rear. 

Nearly spitting in frustration, Long Haul pushed into Hook's personal space, “Where the slag are you going?!”

“Nowhere! Anywhere!” Green servos flew into the air, arms thrown up, “Not back to base!”

“We kinda have to go back to base.” Bonecrusher muttered. 

“Why?!” Bellowed Hook, rage curving his mouth into a furious baring of teeth, “So we can sit cooped up in our quarters like glitchmice in a cage?! So I can try to make new medical tools out of rust-bitten scrap?! I am half fragging blind!!” A gesture at his broken visor and the damage beneath.

His snooty polished accent grew more pronounced the longer he went on. “WE HAVE NO GARDEN.” Emphasizing like they didn't understand, Hook continued his scathing tirade. “We have no idea if Cybertron still exists. We are on an alien planet with ALIENS, squishy annoying aliens. We do not have a lab or even standard materials to work with! Why are we wasting our time working for Megatron when all we get in return are starvation rations?!”

“There are no grand palaces, glimmering silver spires or jeweled domes, there is nothing here! Why are we trying so hard to live here when it is clearly not worth it?! Are we not going back to Cybertron? Are we not going to rebuild? We can't do that here!” He stomped his right foot into the ground, sharply cracking the branches and limestone slates beneath him. “We tried here and the planet beat the crap out of us with a wind storm! It doesn't want us building on it, we are not welcome here! Why are we even trying?!”

“WELL?!” He demanded, looking as his silent kin with an accusatory gaze. It rested on their leader.

Mixmaster took a step forward and stood on the tips of his feet to peer over Hook's shoulder, “Here actually looks pretty good.” Sputtering in shock, the angry mech whirled around and shouldered Long Haul aside. After staring at the area around them, he looked back at the group, visor still pale.

“The rock walls should keep any windstorms from forming around here,”Mixmaster continued blithely. 

Scrapper took a step forward, stance unreadable as he glanced around. He turned toward Hook and everyone went silent, waiting for a verdict or a lecture. “None of us like how things are right now. But we have to make do.”

And that was all he said. They all needed to vent. Hook just had a bit more frustration than the rest of them at the moment and it had built up to a breaking point. 

Without another word or any verbal reprimands at all, Scrapper started examining the landscape. It was very isolated but not flat as the other place had been. Stone walls rose off to their right, sharp cliffs that repeated a little farther down the slope to their left which formed an almost canyon-like area dotted with trees. Even though the branches towered above even their helms, there were plenty of golden rays breaking down between the verdant leaves. It was wide and open enough but still enclosed to make it feel protected. The chattering of thrushes and tiny forest creatures hidden deeper in the shade was quiet and somehow oddly peaceful. 

While Hook raised his helm and acted like he hadn't lost his temper at all, the gathered elementals wandered around. They took more time investigating the alien forest. Who knew what weird weather or creature Earth would throw at them next? However, nothing stood out as dangerous or likely to shatter their garden. 

Pulling himself up one of the vertical cliffs, Bonecrusher let go and fell backward, landing in a shuddering crash. He turned to the others, wiggling like an overly excited canine, “I like it.”

Mixmaster rolled his optics, “High iron, manganese, and copper content.” There were a few nods at that. Iron was good. 

They all tensed when a shrill scream echoed through the trees.

It came from the direction Scavenger had gone, out of their view beyond boulders and stone walls. Had some of the other Cons followed them? Had they been spotted by Autobots? As they reached for their weapons, a second shriek of delight followed, “I found hot springs!!!”

Amber optics and visors widened, turning to Scrapper in unison. Not even hesitating, the mech nodded furiously, “Okay, we're keeping it.”

Perhaps out of sheer glee or maybe from somehow hearing their leader's reply, Scavenger's whoop of joy answered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crystal Elementals: Often live in groups. There are two types, those that prefer dark caverns, and those that prefer topside sunlight and a variety of chemicals to consume. All are usually very good at architecture or at least understand how structures are built because they reorganize and structure their own bodies when they change shape. Unlike some elementals (lava, wind, etc), crystal elementals do not have to make themselves smaller and place themselves into a metal shell to interact with other Cybertronians. They merely shape their crystal into armor plates. 
> 
> The Constructicons are fluorite with citrine optics and prefer topside. Prewar, they helped design and build extravagant crystalline buildings in several cities. Their home was a massive intricate garden outside Kalis.


	12. Lazy Summer Days

Glimmering towers of amethyst, opal, and topaz broke the light raining down on them into rainbows that danced across their plating. Lying on their backs below the spires, Hook and Scavenger remained still and quiet, idly listening to the last drops of last night's rainfall caught in leaves dripping down. The forest noise of creaking trees and small organics faded into the background as light reflected into a million colors. A frail mist darted among the nearby tree boughs, hiding from the sun lest it burn away.

Pink stained quartz held smaller octagonal shafts of aquamarine in it's matrix. Silver twined between garnet clusters like veins. Gemstone blood that Scavenger traced with a finger before dropping his arm back onto the grass. 

It had taken a few months for the Constructicons to get them so tall, the minerals in the hot springs helping things along. But it would be awhile before the little garden glade wasn't so fragile. Thankfully, Scrapper had saved an illusion charm from quite a long time ago that would hopefully keep anyone from seeing their hidden refuge. Tucked up high into the Nez-Perce Clearwater national forest, they were unlikely to be disturbed by humans. And other Cybertronians, they hoped. 

But now was a lazy afternoon filled with rest and a dizzying array of color. Hook dozed lightly as he opened his healed optics now and again to glance at the opalescent planes above him, fixed visor sitting innocently just a few inches away on the ground. The mech was completely healthy thanks to the power drawn from their garden. In the scattering shadows and cascading bubble-colored light, the elementals felt warm and content. 

Neither could remember who started harmonizing first. 

One of them though, hummed softly in increasing pitch until the crystals rang back in tinkling airy chimes. Then the other joined in until the garden sang in ways only crystal kin would understand. 

Despite where they were, and how new and small it was, the garden felt like home.


	13. Of A Feather

“I have never seen anything this strange, even when I accidentally got wasted after prom.”

“Accidentally?”

“Well, my abuela made me promise not to but a friend of mine spiked our drinks and didn't mention it. So yeah, that was one hell of a trip. Still not as crazy as this.” Raoul gestured at the entourage in front of them as he leaned back to get more comfortable on the mountain slope just outside the door of the base.

The center of attention was a unicorn. More specifically, Mirage trotting through the high grass and sage with a number of smaller equines trotting after him. There was something extremely odd and hilarious about seeing a tall and elegantly dainty unicorn being followed around by five gangly pegasi-looking foals and two short ponies. None of them came up any higher than Mirage's chest. While Arcee and Kup had some dignity and kept to either side of the karkadann to allow him to lead the small herd around, the Aerialbots hadn't yet figured out how to not be in the way or didn't care. 

As they kicked their hind legs and scampered around with frenetic energy, Mirage gave a loud huff. Raising his head high, bladed horn slicing the air, the blue and white mech made a quick turn and started to canter. Happy colt squeals answered him as the Aerialbots chased after on shorter legs, wings flapping in glee. A snort could be heard coming from the old pony in the group, Kup amused by the youngsters. 

Mirage may have been pretending not to care, trying to hold some dignity, but it was obvious that he was pleased. His hooves pranced just a little bit more than usual, tail whipping about as the mech showed off a tiny bit. It wasn't perfect, as they weren't the same as him. But it was close enough and they were a herd. A strange herd made of a karkadann, an equinid, a pooka, and pegasi colts. But hey, sometimes the best things are the strange things that you never expect and don't understand how you got when you do get them. 

Watching the tiny mismatched herd, Raoul and Chip contemplated the weirdness that was now their life. When Air Raid didn't slow down fast enough and nearly knocked over Kup, prompting sudden chaos of hooves and startled whickers, Raoul groaned and flopped back against the ground. 

Chip gave him a silent questioning look. 

Sighing deeply, as the world had decided to go crazy, the teen explained with one arm tossed over his eyes, “You know, when I was twelve, I told my mom unicorns didn't exist. And now.” He waved a hand at the herd that had reorganized itself, mainly due to Arcee shoving the younglings into order. “Giant metal carnivorous unicorn. And everything else. I think I owe her a call and an apology.” 

A moment of silence. “…... What is my life?”

The ring of metal hooves on ground and Chip's laughter did nothing to answer the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Equinid: A type of wildling related to pegasi and karkadann. Unlike their sibling species, they can neither fly nor use their tails as weapons, don't have horns, or even sharp denta. In fact, the only dangerous thing about them is they kick pretty hard. One of the least threatening and aggressive species of wildling, equinid's are known for being hard to see and easily overlooked as their duller paint schemes tend to blend in with their surroundings. 
> 
> Kup will tell you all kinds of stories about the Equinid herds on Cybertron, how they traveled over the planet, roamed every inch of open space, bartered and traded with everyone they met. He should know, considering he was there. Of course, once he gets started on tales, it's hard to get him to stop. Mirage wasn't the only one missing a herd.


	14. With An Edge of Ice

Lost in the place between conscious and dreaming, Starscream's thoughts tangled into each other like a nest of snakes. Tails lashed, fangs bared and snapped as half-conceived ideas were considered and either tossed or pondered for later. In his mind, the snakes shifted as they hissed at one another. Masses on their backs grew until wings opened and legs sprouted from their sides. The tiny dragons writhed and turned on their brethren, heavy splashes of blood decorating their scales in shining drops of energon pink. 

“Starscream.”

It was like hearing someone while being submerged in a pool of water. Even drifting, the mech's mind was fast though. Only a second passed before he opened his optics. 

Thundercracker stood before him solemnly, not looking nearly contrite enough for disturbing the air commander. “Megatron has been trying to comm you. I told him you had turned them off and were deep in a project.”

Ah, Megatron. The source of most of his problems. Sure, there were other things and people he'd like to make disappear (or destroy, that was fun too), but Megatron was the worst. He couldn't very well tell off Thundercracker for disturbing him either. A sneer crawled across his face as Starscream stretched and stood. He'd been sitting in the corner of their shared quarters that he'd claimed for himself, floor and lower wall hidden behind scavenged, hoarded and stolen pillows. It was for him to relax and plan, and even Skywarp knew better than to dare take a nap there. 

“Did our oh-so-glorious leader say why he wished to talk with me?” He didn't bother to thank the other seeker as he flexed his servos and wings to loosen the cables and wiring.

Starscream never asked for his trine to cover for him (okay, almost never. On a very rare occasion when he needed an alibi, then maybe). But he didn't ask for aid and Thundercracker never offered. Sometimes he just helped for reasons neither of them really understood. The trine leader wasn't about to make things awkward by saying 'thank you'.

A shrug as the bulkier mech turned away to pick up his datapad, “No.”

Of course not. 

Sighing deeply, Starscream stalked from their room and towards the command center. Concerns over what the warlord could possibly want swarmed his thoughts. Most of the crew wandering about were smart enough to stay out of his way, the mech's quick stride giving away his limited patience. Unfortunately, some people could not be dissuaded from stirring up drama. 

“Hey Screamer.” “Where ya going'?” “Is there gonna be a fight?”

Melting out of what seemed to be blank walls and empty air, Soundwave's little pests started barraging him with questions. Ones he did not have the time or inclination to answer, “Beat it, brats.”

“Ooooh, someone's in a mood.”

“Isn't he always, Rumble?” Snickers and chitters erupted on either side of him as the small mechs scrambled to keep up with his longer strides. 

Their elfin small faces curved up to him, flashing teeth and pale yellow optics. So pale they almost seemed to fade into their oddly plated faces and helms. The metal overlapped like flower petals, twisting at random points and leaving jagged edges poking out at intervals almost too organized to be completely without thought. While other Cybertronians looked like puzzle pieces fit together, nephren were roughly carved figures of strange layers and proportions. 

They also didn't follow logic, which ticked off Starscream on a regular basis. 

Ravage leaped out of the empty space behind the mech's right shoulder, the angle all wrong to have dropped from the ceiling or come from the wall or floor. It was as if the feline-creature had been perched on a ledge hovering in the hall. Which there wasn't. Which meant the quadruped shouldn't have been able to do that. Most species had their own set of rules and such. Nephren did not. They flouted the laws of physics as if they were things only stupid people followed. 

Neatly leaping over Starscream's shoulder, Ravage landed in front of Frenzy and swatted his sibling into the shadows in the corner. Frenzy had barely had a chance to form a protest before he disappeared as if he'd never been. 

Rumble scrambled around Starscream's legs, trying to use him as a shield and forcing the bigger mech to a stop lest he fall over. “Hey Ravage! What gives?”

“We have work to do.” Starscream didn't have time to kick the pest grabbing at his legs before the most responsible of Soundwave's group snagged Rumble's arm with his teeth and they both disappeared. They were neither camouflaged nor invisible. Just gone. 

Snarling loudly, not wasting any breath on the idiocy of others, Starscream continued. One of these days those brats were going to get themselves into trouble they couldn't just run or hide from. And Starscream was going to sit back and watch. Glitches. The lot of them.

In a mere moment or two, the air commander stalked out onto the bridge like he owned it. Which he almost did. Except for one person in his way of course. Otherwise it would be his. Seated idly on the throne, Megatron lifted one optic ridge slowly as the corner of his mouth twitched up. It was as if the dragon's appearance amused him, although Starscream wasn't sure how. He hadn't done anything lately to slag off their leader. There wasn't anything he could think of that could be pinned on him. But the amusement made him wary. A scowl lit his face, nasal ridge pointed high as he surveyed the other mechs in the room. As if he'd let Megatron play mind games with him! 

“Ah. You took your time.” The manticore didn't bother to address his subordinate, knowing it was a slight. He was almost difficult to see in the dim cavernous room spanned with walkways and lit by the glow of terminals. 

Ignoring the jab, Starscream planted his hands on his hips and leaned on a leg. A harsh rasp clawed it's way out of his throat into an almost mocking response. “I heard you wished to speak with me, my lord?” There. Waiting for orders but still defiant and unapologetic. 

Apparently growing bored with their game, Megatron gestured at the hologram of the planet to his right. “A Cybertronian signal was detected near the Northern side of the planet. It isn't an Autobot signal. Go and find out whatever it is or who else is here.”

A scouting mission...A fragging scouting mission?!

“My lord!” Sputtered the seeker, “Surely you can send the Coneheads or someone lounging around-”

“Ah yes, you were busy working on a project. Weren't you?” Glee and smugness lit deeply within the jeweled crimson of Megatron's optic as he tapped a servo against the arm of his chair. Starscream realized the boredom had been a feint. The game wasn't over. “Anything useful for the Decepticons?”

'One round to you,' the dragon thought bitterly as only a mild distaste made itself apparent to everyone watching, “No, my lord. Nothing important.” None of the mechs working at the terminals needed to say anything. The near silent hiss of laughter that could be attributed to a leaky pipe above spoke for them. 

Stretching out to get more comfortable, the Decepticon leader smirked, “I do hope you find something good then, Starscream. Don't waste any time.”

“Yes Lord Megatron.” A sullen and practiced response as the furious air commander swept out of the room and away from the bigger mech's mocking red gaze. 

'You better hope it's nothing good. Or I'll use it against you, oh-so-glorious leader.' Starscream hissed in his mind.  
.  
.  
.  
Ice crystals scratches against his plating as he shot through the clouds high above the planet's surface. Wings dipped, flaring out to catch the air currents before folding neatly as he dived. A whistling shriek characteristic only to the seekers pierced the empty brilliant sky, created by wind rushing past his plating. 

It was cold and sharp. As he fell, Starscream twisted to move faster. He was the fastest. Faster than his trinemates, faster than any other flier and any other seeker he'd ever flown with. No one could match his skill in maneuvers and speed. 

He didn't want anyone to fly with him this high anyways. 

The upper atmosphere was his domain. Megatron didn't like to have that much space between himself and the ground. Manticore's were lower level fliers and ambush predators. The skies though, the skies were for the dragons. 

And all the fliers on this planet knew that when Starscream went up this high, he wanted to be left alone. Rarely would Thundercracker or Skywarp dare to try and join him at this height. On occasion, the purple and black seeker would gather up the audacity and usually be left behind for his trouble, teleporting abilities notwithstanding. 

Spreading his wings and rising, Starscream sighed. He liked being away from the ground. Up here, all was wind and air, a world he moved in so easily. And it was cold. 

The cold reminded him of a friend he'd lost in ages past. An explorer who'd gone off long ago and not returned. And no amount of searching on Starscream's part had turned up anything. No trail, no signals or distress calls, no trace. It was as if the universe had swallowed him. The cold was always a reminder. But there were more important things to deal with, so the seeker never allowed himself to think about Skyfire unless he was high in the air. 

Heading north toward the European continent and the wintered countries of Siberia and Russia, Starscream sped toward the signal he was to scout out. But he wasn't in a hurry. And there was enough time to stretch out his limbs. 

Once again falling, the crystal dragon performed a simple dive all seekers learned early. A whistling song echoed off his plating. With a barrel-roll, he transitioned into a more elaborate flight pattern. A loop, a spin, twisting sideways and jackknifing sharply upward in a dance that would win him any aerial dogfight. Starscream flexed his claws and shrieked at the alien world, he was here and he could take on anything it threw at him. 

Almost.

A deep engine rumbled on the horizon ahead of him. Turning his narrow head so the sun wasn't in his optics, Starscream searched past the mountains until he spotted an odd shape standing out from the clouds. It was a ship. 

A Cybertronian ship. 

Screeching defiance, Starscream rose with a couple large flaps of his wings and then dived. Catching the wind, he leveled out and zipped right toward the target. Claws extended. He reared back his head and bared his teeth as he came in close and fast. A startled shout over open airwaves to disengage burst from the explorer vessel. 

The dragon spun, his claws sliding harmlessly against the underside of the mech without digging in. A warning that he could go for a kill strike if he wanted. And then Starscream's world flipped right side up as he righted himself and sharply looped back around. Mid-air, the seeker transformed and hovered on his thrusters. A habitual sneer crossed his face as he gazed arrogantly at the newcomer. 

“Surrender! State your designation and faction-” His words faded out as the other flier transformed and also hovered, engine rumbling loudly while Starscream took in the familiar form. 

Oh Primus. How.....

“Starscream! You're here!” In a rush of giddy disbelief and clattering plating, the mech pulled the seeker into a near crushing hug. A noise surprisingly similar to a squeaky toy loosing air (one Starscream would completely deny) was lost under the excited exclamations. “I didn't think I'd ever see you again! Or anyone else for that matter! But I heard a seeker song and flew over. How did you get here?! Wait! When did you get here?!” 

He pulled back long enough for Starscream to wobble for a moment, forgetting they were a couple thousand feet in the air and yes, he still needed his thrusters and wings working to keep him up. The shipformer put a servo under his elbow to steady him as the dragon continued to stare. A hushed whisper shattered the world around him. 

“Skyfire.”

Smile growing even wider, the mech replied cheerfully, “Starscream.”

“How....” Too bewildered and shocked by the most unexpected occurrence, the seeker shook his helm. His wings flattened themselves against his back for a few seconds. “I am awake. You're alive.”

“You are and I am.” Skyfire rumbled, merriment lighting up his nearly colorless optics. When a strangled and hysterical laugh escaped from his throat, Starscream allowed himself to be pulled into another hug. The other grinned, “Perhaps we should land before one of us falls out of the sky.”

Nodding in agreement and still moving like his limbs were not quite his own, mind struggling to push past the rampant thoughts, the dragon transformed and dived. He didn't move nearly as fast as he normally would have, going so far as to keep even with the big mech as they landed on a mountain clearing dusted with a faint layer of snow. Frozen vegetation and frost crunched underfoot as Starscream landed and settled on his belly, tail curling across his front paws. Skyfire landed gently and crouched, seating himself down next to the dragon's side. “I suppose you want to know what happened.”

“I was supposed to be with you. I was going to join you on that exploration, except I didn't....” Starscream's voiced cracked but held, crystal plating showing off soft reflections from the muted sunlight. An unhappy whistle from Skyfire tried to comfort him, face twisting into sadness. 

“It wasn't your fault. I didn't expect you to come with me on every venture and neither of us could have known. You were called away.” He rubbed his face, optics gazing into the distance and mind lost somewhere between Cybertron and the stars. Somewhere in the empty darkness that lead to isolation and loneliness with no one else to talk too, not another similar spark to find company in. “I.... I miscalculated the gravity when landing. It was a rookie mistake. But it was enough.”

“Even small things can become big problems.” Starscream listlessly intoned one of the explorer's rules that he'd learned long ago.

“Yeah. It was a big problem. I damaged some things,” he tapped the metal frame he wore, rough and dull from time, “and my temp regulator. When I tried to leave the atmosphere again..... I started to burn up. I couldn't leave the planet.”

“So you've been here.”

Starscream's tail flicked back and forth in agitation, wings shivering in tension as he gazed up at his lost companion. “You've been on this backwater organic planet for millenia.”

“Yes.”

“I searched for you.”

“Starscream.....”

“I searched for you!” The dragon screamed suddenly, leaping to his feet. Wings opened into an aggressive pose, claws out and head down as if ready to lunge forward. “I searched every waystation and trading post within the known galaxies. I wandered through cities and traveled strange planets and couldn't find any trace, anyone who recognized you. And you were HERE!!”

The flier drew his knees up to his chest, gaze softening into regret. “I was farther than civilization. You know that.”

“A ROOKIE MISTAKE!” Starscream howled. “How could you do that?! How could you do that to me?!” 

Whirling on his clawed feet, the dragon screeched and snapped at empty air. Better to howl at the too blue sky, to bite the snowflakes gently starting to fall, to lunge and spin at invisible targets and tire himself out than to set his sharp denta on his lost companion. It did little to push away the screaming agony in his tank. Shoulders heaving and panting hard, Starscream stared at the silent mech. He ignored the way his wings visibly shivered. It was the cold, the dragon told himself firmly even though the drop in temperature had never really bothered him before. It was so so cold out here and that's why his traitorous limbs shook. 

A forlorn whisper that held way too much emotion and weakness for his liking curled out, “How could you do that to me?”

“I'm sorry. Starscream, I'm sorry. I.... I didn't think I'd ever see anyone else again. I figured my core would fade out before any other Cybertronian came to this planet.” Skyfire's voice cracked while his face twisted into grief, the armor plates of his shell pulling apart enough that wisps of cold drifted out. Frost flowers bloomed in perfect radial symmetry. 

Silence hung heavy between them as the frozen flakes drifted down to collect on the mountainside. Finally, Starscream heaved a shuddering vent and slowly stalked over. There was no point in being angry at the mech. He'd not wasted so much time and effort grieving for him just to push him away now. Transforming, he knelt.. Where to start? How could he explain to Skyfire how much had changed? How much he had changed? Starscream wasn't nearly as kind or forgiving as he once had been. Dread coiled it's scaled body around Starscream's spark and bared it's fangs as if to mock him. 

“Skyfire..... There's a reason I'm on this planet now....”  
.  
.  
.  
It wasn't easy, the explanation. Skyfire could not believe that Cybertron was dark and abandoned. The home he'd left behind, the one he'd pined for during his long imprisonment, had been left behind by all others in his absence. And war.... the word itself was tasted foreign and small on his glossa. 

War. How could such a simple word encompass all that had happened, all that he'd missed? How could a word, of all things, personify the destruction of a civilization, a world, a species?

Reading the rejection in his optics, Starscream laid a clawed servo on the mech's arm. “I know it's hard to believe but sometimes the truth is difficult. Come back with me.” To where there was a medic to fix him, where there was energon. Skyfire had survived without it so far by only using the metal shell sparingly, stretching his expedition supplies as long as he could and wandering the world in his true form, an ice winds elemental. 

Come back to civilization, of a kind. Come back to people, energon, supplies so Skyfire would no longer be stuck on this Pit-spawned planet that had doomed him to millenia of solitude. Come back to the Nemesis....where Megatron ruled. 

It was a near silent flight. Skyfire didn't comment on how slow Starscream flew, lost in his own thoughts. And Starscream tried to draw it out. Just a little more time to glide through watery clouds and light winds. Only a few more moments to fly together, before the world came crashing down around him again. Before Skyfire realized the friend he knew was long gone, disappearing when he had. Before Starscream had to stand before the other Decepticons and somehow hope that his companion would understand why he'd changed. What he'd sacrificed to come this far. 

Just awhile longer to pretend everything would be alright, like it used to be.

He would stand up to Megatron. He would convince him to let Skyfire stay in the lab and work on science projects that would benefit the cause, so he wouldn't have to fight. Starscream would watch his back and Skyfire's so everyone learned not to mess with the shuttle-mech. The dragon would fight anyone who targeted him. Vicious, when the explorer vessel wasn't looking, still an always curious scientist when he was.

Slag, who was he kidding? Not even himself. There was no possibility of this turning out okay. 

When the top of the base came into view above the ocean, like the fin of a giant slumbering sea beast, Starscream started a slow gliding descent. No dramatic show-off twists, no transforming midair, or even hovering an extra few seconds to let his wings blow heavy gusts of air at the awaiting mechs. 

No. None of that. He landed gently and quietly before slowly transforming. The crystal dragon raised his helm in the way that allowed him to look down his nose at the others and crossed his arms. Skyfire landed with a dull thud behind him. Squeezing his spark, dread wound tighter and tighter when Starscream took in the smug grin lighting up Megatron's face. 

“Well well, Starscream. I wasn't expecting anything so useful from you. And here you've brought someone to our door,” Fingers flexing in anticipation, Megatron didn't even bother to look at his air commander as he studied the newcomer up and down. Greed for a new pawn sparked delight in his face. A hunger showed itself in the manicore's broad smile. “Do introduce us.”

“Lord Megatron,” he intoned flatly, “This is Skyfire. I knew him before the war. He's a great scientist who was...lost during an exploration. He would be invaluable in the labs, if you would be so gracious as to allow him to aid in our scientific projects. I'm sure Shockwave would be delighted to have someone to compare notes with.” Sugar practically dripped from his words as he stared the warlord in the optics, watching for some sign of aggression, a signal that things were going to go bad. 

“As much as Shockwave's ever delighted.” Someone behind their leader muttered. Starscream didn't look. He didn't care to see all the optics staring at him and Skyfire, judging. 

He also ignored the mech behind him, the sensors in his wings telling him that Skyfire had startled at the sweet venom in his words. There was a pause, as everyone waited to see what Megatron would do. With the slightest tilt of his helm, deep crimson optics bore into his own. Megatron knew he was hiding something, keeping something to himself. It was apparent in the curve of the warlord's mouth. But would he call him out now or wait?

The latter it seemed, as Megatron turned a lazy gaze back to the silent elemental. “How could I turn away any who wish to be so useful to us?” He smiled, a row of teeth on display and raised a servo to gesture at their wave-battered ship and the small crowd around the trio. “Welcome to the Decepticons Skyfire.”

Poor Skyfire was still quite lost on all that was going on, struggling to understand the subtle conversation underlying their almost friendly words. But he was still polite as always. He raised his servos out, palm up and empty in greeting. Normally the other mech would lay his empty servos on top, as the Cybertronian version of shaking hands. Megatron however, openly sneered. 

“Bow.” Starscream stated, the regular saccharine disdain absent.

“What?” The other glanced at him confused before obeying, trust that Starscream knew what he was doing helping the action along. Thankfully, Megatron let the slight pass. 

Starscream internally vented in relief. It would be okay. Skyfire would stay with him and he'd manage to keep everything under control-

“Before the war, eh?” Smirked the gray titan, “Things have changed. But don't worry. After we drain this planet, we'll have enough energon to return to Cybertron and rebuild! We will return it to glory! I'm sure you're eager to see your home again.” A heavy triumphant fist was raised into the air. His words were charming, so full of passion and charisma. The same that had drawn so many to his side to start a revolution. 

And yet, Skyfire didn't seem to feel it at all. If anything, he became distraught. “Drain the planet! But you mustn't!”

What.

No. No! Don't argue with him!

“Oh?” A predator's gaze settled on Skyfire, “And why mustn't I?” The gathered Cons openly gaped at the newcomer's audacity, several faces lit up with the prospect of a good show or shaking slowly in scorn. 

“There is a sentient species on this planet!” The shuttle-mech explained, assuming they didn't know. “And thousands of different natives species that coexist here! If you drain the planet, it will kill them.”

“Why do you care?!” Starscream couldn't stop the sharp question from leaving his mouth, incredulous optics on his friend. He couldn't screw this up. They had made it, safe for the moment. Skyfire couldn't just throw it all away! “They're organics!”

Oh. That look. That was what Starscream had been so afraid of, even more so than what Megatron might do. That look that stared at the seeker as if he didn't know who stood before him, didn't recognize the mech that had gone on so many expeditions with him. Then he turned to Megatron, unafraid. He didn't realize he needed to be afraid. “I've been stuck on this planet for millenia.” The elemental explained. “I've watched life start here. I've seen species grow and go extinct in time. I've watched the humans evolve, gain sentience, and conquer. And while at times, I think it would be best if there were less of them, it would still be a mass killing of a species. There are millions of younglings that would die. That is wrong. I can't abide by that.”

'No Skyfire', the seeker thought in shock. 'Don't argue with him. Don't throw this away! You left me once, don't do it again!'

“Really? That's too bad.” All the pleasure of having another mech added to his army drained from the warlord's face, leaving only annoyance and slow burning anger at being told off. “I'm afraid I can't have you standing in my way.”

Starscream's spark plummeted. This was worse than he'd imagined. He hadn't thought Skyfire would go so far as to speak against the Decepticon leader. Back on Cybertron, the big mech had always allowed Starscream to be the harsh one to win the arguments for them both. Skyfire himself had always tried to soothe with words and work things out. And yet now he stood against one of the most dangerous Cybertronians alive and held his ground. 

Perhaps Starscream wasn't the only one to have changed. 

“I haven't watched over this planet for billions of years just for you to show up and destroy it.”

“Very well then. Motormaster.” The demon stalked out of the crowd, looking eagerly between the manticore and Skyfire. The other hellhounds followed in his wake. A tense susurrus from their audience started, all knowing this would end only in bloodshed. Skyfire startled, recognizing the demons for what they were and not comprehending how beings such as them could be here. Slow dawning understanding bloomed across his face. He was finally starting to realize what kind of people were around him, the danger he stood in. 

Skyfire looked to his friend for aid, but the dragon merely stared back with a hollow look. The slightest tilt of his wings and blank optics were the only answer. He wouldn't give up all he'd fought for, every plot, every plan, thousands of years of manipulation and hard work. Not when Skyfire had thrown away the chance he'd just managed to grab. No amount of intervention could save them now. Betrayal flashed across Skyfire's face. He turned slowly toward the approaching monsters. 

“Show us why the Decepticons are superior.” Megatron crowed, fusion canon on his arm gearing up. He would apparently join the beat down. 

Popping claws out of his seeker heels, Starscream dug them into the metal he stood on. He knew what was coming. Skyfire may be a gentle giant but he wasn't a pushover when threatened either. Motormaster lunged forward first, shifting into a beast with a gaping maw of fangs and fiery breath. Everyone tensed, expecting the shuttle to be torn apart. As Skyfire's armor parted, Starscream was the only one fast enough to drop to the ground and dig his servos into the roof of their base, holding himself in place. 

Tremendous gusts of freezing winds slammed into them all. The smaller mechs at the edge of the crowd were almost thrown from the base, a few falling over the sides into the waters below. Mechs were knocked into each other, frost gathering on their armor as the temperature rapidly dropped and the patches of liquid around them froze in a split second. Ice held their armor plates together, sprouting along their lines and cables like bursts of flowers suddenly blooming. Shouts of surprise were lost under the howl of a winter storm, anger and betrayal tearing at their frames.

The hellhounds screamed agony, the cold dissipating the Pit fire in their cores. Ice grew along their limbs and locked them into place. Megatron roared. 

In seconds it was over. As the winds fell silent, only groans and pained howls to be heard, Starscream opened his optics and straightened. 

He was the first standing. As he looked over the discordant pile of mechs struggling up and the demons frozen to the metal where they stood, he saw that Skyfire's place was empty. The elemental had fled. His lost companion was gone as quickly as he'd been found. When Megatron stood to bellow rage at the sky and turned to Starscream, the seeker only gave a rictus grin in return. He was going to be in so much trouble for this. At the very least, he could make sure Megatron never realized how close he and Skyfire had been. Never realized that he actually cared. 

“It seems he wasn't useful after all.” The tri-colored seeker stated with a sardonic chuckle. He couldn't feel his spark any more. Only sharply scaled coils winding along his insides.  
.  
.

To the east, five pegasii foals galloped around in an empty field, testing out their wings. As Prowl tried to take a nap for the first time in weeks and Hound stood watch, a shadow fell over them. The Aerialbots scrambled back to the sphinx's side while the adults stood and waited. 

Skyfire landed solidly, footsteps causing small shudders in the earth below him. The Autobots traded looks and narrowed their optics. 

“I am Skyfire.” The giant rumbled, a heavy emotion making his voice deep and loud. Cold and colorless optics studied them. “What do you plan to do to this planet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seekers: Some crystal dragons can roar, but not seekers. They can, however, shriek and it is usually incredibly painful to listen to.  
> They all have thrusters with turbines in them in bipedal mode for hovering. They force large amounts of air out from under a mech to hold them up. In dragon form, the turbines are relocated to the back just behind and under the wings to give lift for quick take offs. 
> 
> Skyfire is an ice winds elemental, so his true form is difficult to be around for others because most tend to freeze. His name translates to something along the lines of “Ice winds so sharp they feel like fire.”  
> He was on the other side of the planet when their ships crashed millions of years ago and wandering near the Arctic when they woke up, so he hadn't yet caught up to the news that there were other Cybertronians about. He'd just been heading back south when he heard Starscream's seeker song and flew over. Starscream explained the Decepticon vs. Autobot thing to him, but Skyfire doesn't really trust one group over the other right now. Especially with how meeting the Decepticons went.


	15. Oh, the Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smokescreen likes horror movies. Have a complementary ghost this Halloween.

At this time of night, with most of the mechs in the rec room enjoying themselves, the washracks were nearly empty. Lights were dimmed and the corners dark, energy not to be wasted on unnecessary things when no one was around. Water droplets from a leaky spray nozzle tapped against the grooved floor. Below deck, several pipes groaned as Smokescreen turned on a faucet and soaked a rag. 

While he tended to wash when many of the others were in here to get involved in the gossip and heckling, there were times when a mech just needed some peace and quiet to relax while getting clean. That and he preferred cleaning himself without the glamour when others weren't around. 

Dragging a stool closer to one of the better lit sinks, the Praxian frame settled down and flicked his wings a little before letting the glamour drop. 

His doorwings detached, the metal shimmering to mirror reflectiveness and hovering by his back. As swatches of his armor changed into mirrors, some floating and some not, his servos broke off from his wrists and picked up the wet rag. They stayed close to his wrists, but weren't quite attached. A blind appeared, wrapping around his optics. Although he could still see through it just fine, as if looking through a finely veiled layer, no one could see his optics. 

With a sigh of contentment, he got started polishing up the glass. A peaceful rhythm was started; wipe, rinse, inspect, polish, repeat. It was soothing. 

Until it wasn't. Something strange tingled along the edges of his mirrors. 

Smokescreen paused. His panels were sensitive, especially without the glamour on. Raising them out and away from his body, he cast around for whatever his sensors had picked up but found nothing. Distantly, he could make out the noise and subtle rabble from the rec room but from here it was little more than muted sounds. Now that he wasn't focused on his cleaning, the dripping in the nearby stall seemed extraordinarily loud to his audios. But there was nothing there. 

“Too many horror movies.” He muttered to himself with a frown. Although he would be the first to admit he really did love watching those things and the humans had some great creativity for the genre. 

Creaking from the pipes rose from below, like the skitters of tiny claws on metal. 

Going back to his task, the blue mech fluffed his armor while his mirrors shivered mid-air. He soaked the wash cloth again and pulled one of his door panels to the front of him for a good wash. Determinately ignoring the flickering of the lights behind him, Smokescreen scrubbed at his wing until it gleamed like a plate of iridescent liquid silver. Helm bent over closely, his optics caught a flash of washed out color in the reflection, gone like a streak of light. 

Smokescreen sat up slowly and looked around. The room was empty. He was the only one there. Nothing should have made that reflection and nothing was moving. 

Muttering to himself, Smokescreen let the panel return to his back and grabbed the other one. He as psyching himself out. And he was definitely not going to turn on the lights like a youngling scared of the dark. Pit, he used the dark quite often in his illusions. With a huff, the bot focused on the last mirror. He didn't react when the wrong-not-there feeling brushed against his sensors again. His floating mirrors didn't even twitch. If he ignored his sensors playing tricks on him, they would stop. There was nothing there. Nope. Nope. Nope. 

After a few moments, Smokescreen finally finished and straightened. Putting away his cleaning supplies and tucking his glamour back over his form, the mech glanced around. The room was as dim as before, water still dripped, and it was too quiet. And he was just fine. 

“'My imagination.” 

With a shake of his helm, the Praxian took a look in the mirror to make sure he looked alright. And found two faces in his view. 

Smokescreen froze. The latter face, not his own, was a bit behind his shoulder and looking away. But then the other turned toward him and for a second, his optics met the other's large blue ones. And then it was gone. 

Unmoving, Smokescreen stared into the mirror for a long moment before whirling around, servos clenching the rim of the sink. The room was empty, save for himself. Tense silence clutched at his rapidly flaring spark. 

And then he let out a squeal of completely undignified glee. “Ghost!”  
.  
.  
.

It took several minutes before Smokescreen could compose himself enough to enter the rec room. Making sure he wasn't still bouncing on his heels and trying to retain some manner of calm dignity, he strode through the doors with his usual confident gait. Hypnotic and deceptively sweet lazy piano notes flowed over him as the illusionist noted who was where in the room, a faint film of smoke dancing up above their helms and making the edges of things blurry.

It was quiet tonight, all the mechs seated and either lounging or talking softly among themselves. 

(('This deep sigh coiled around my chest  
Intoxicated by a major chord  
I wonder  
Do I love you or the thought of you?'))

Throwing a smile at some of the mechs at the tables, nodding at the Twins in passing, he appeared totally normal. See? No internal freaking out or anything of that nature. Everything was cool. The melody dragged at his internal excitement, tempering it into something more manageable. 

(('Slow, love, slow  
Only the weak are not lonely'))

Soft guitar riffs slid out of Jazz's speakers to twine with piano notes, the mech sequestered in the back corner where he could see both exits and the entire room with an uninterrupted view. Leaning on an undoubtedly stolen pile of pillows, the visored mech blew out a plume of smoke before sticking his pipe back in his mouth. The smoke didn't float up, the way it should have. Instead the wisps seemed to spin this way and that, the source of the faint haze in the room. Pictures formed in the cloud. Small figures of the gray murk took shape, gods and warriors and other beings that danced in the air before dissipating. It was mesmerizing to watch, and a rare sight. Jazz didn't often bring out his pipe. 

(('Southern blue, morning dew  
Let-down-your-guards, I-love-you’s  
Ice-cream castles, lips-to-ear rhymes  
A slumber deeper than tiiiiiiiimmmeeeee'))

As Smokescreen approached, Jazz lifted himself a little, although the music didn't stop. He did however, shift a bit to the side to let the Praxian have a seat. Sliding into it, Smokescreen gave a quick but twitchy grin and kept his voice low, “Hey Jazz.”

“Smokes.” 

An intrigued cant of his horned helm gave away that Jazz had caught Smokescreen's excitement, even if his tone remained lazy, voice as smooth and formless as the smoke he breathed. He blew out another puff. The pipe gleamed oddly in the dull lighting, seeming to suck in all the light around it. There was something nerve racking about the small insignificant object, like a lurking danger that Smokescreen couldn't quite identify. Trying to look away, as if he ignored something it wouldn't notice him, the Praxian focused on Jazz's dimmed silvery visor.

(('Slooooow, looooooooooooove, sloooooowwwwww....'))

“We have a visitor.” The Praxian's statement was made barely above a whisper, pitched to be unheard over the crooning notes. A delighted grin worked it's way across his face. Curiouser now, Jazz flexed his digits along the pipe in his servo and smiled. Smokescreen had his attention.

“Red catch a'cassette fer once? Or some neutrals come callin'? Haven't seen any o' them for awhile.”

(('Only the weak... are not loooooneeeelllyyyyyy.......'))

Unable to contain an excited doorwing wiggle, Smokescreen replied, “Neither.” A quick look around proved that no one appeared to have seen or was paying attention to them. “We have a ghost,” the last word relished in delight. 

(('Slooooow, looooooooooooove, sloooooowwwwww....'))

Pipe paused halfway back to his mouth, Jazz suddenly frowned and turned his visor sharply to the vividly colored mech. It was.... unsettling to be the center of focus for the head of Special Ops with that look on his faceplates. Smokescreen's armor flattened just slightly and he was caught between a mild thrill of unease and uncontainable glee over the newest information teasing around and around in his processor. It was quite a strange feeling. He decided he liked it. 

Maybe he should really take a break from horror movies if he was looking for thrills like this. 

Jazz remained silent for a few more seconds to let the song finish with the trill of a trumpet and the ticking of a clock. His pipe vanished as he suddenly straightened from his lazing and nodded at Blaster to pick up on keeping the relaxed mood in the room. Looping an arm around Smokescreen's elbow like one of those old fashioned couples in a ballroom, Jazz pulled the slightly larger mech towards the exit. 

Once out of the room, Smokescreen flicked his wings in disgruntlement. His helm felt clearer now, like something had been smothering his mind and making his thoughts slow. Odd. “Were you doing that?”

Jazz hadn't let go, but was now letting Smokescreen lead him through the halls. His face tilted slightly up toward the Praxian, a small confused smile pursed on his lips. “Doin' what?”

“Making it all..... mellow, in there. What the frag was in your smoke?”

Jazz let the corners of his mouth twitch up as the spotted the washrack doors, “Well, if you got the lightin' an' the music an' enough folk are all feelin' the same thin', it can set a mood. And what was in mah smoke ain't gonna affect none a' yah.” They slipped in, the lighting exactly as Smokescreen had left it. Jazz cocked his head and looked around, poking into the stalls and seemingly empty corners. His footsteps made quiet little splashes on the wet flooring. 

“Uhuh.” Not sure he believed that, Smokescreen decided not to push it. “Anyways, he was in here.”

Humming, Jazz circled before standing in the middle of the room and doing a slow turn. He examined the ceiling, then gave the impression of trying to see through the floor as he turned this way and that. Finally, he stopped in front of the row of mirrors and frowned again. “Walk meh through what happened.”

“Not much.” It was said with not a tiny bit of disappointment and a shrug. “I was polishing, felt uneasy. It was kinda creepy in here with the lights and weird noises- I did not psych myself into seeing a ghost Jazz!” Smokescreen raised his voice in defense at the look on the other mech's face. 

“Okay, okay! Just a'lil surprised is all.” He muttered with his servos up in surrender. “Not common to see ghosts ya know. An' I woulda expected tah see one earlier yah know?” 

With a mild huff, Smokescreen rolled his optics, “Yeah, I know. But I know what I saw.”

“Straight on, in front a' yah?” Jazz took a seat on the stool Smokescreen had vacated previously. He crossed his legs and let his visor dim to a muted blue. Some of the playfulness left his frame and he became still. 

“No. First it was really quick, in my mirrors. I was polishing.” The other explained. “And I thought I was just being silly, actually psyching myself out, you know? And then as I was leaving, I glanced in the big mirror, yeah that one.” He admitted as Jazz pointed to the one closest to him. “And I saw him behind me. He wasn't looking at me, at first. But he turned and as soon as we looked at each other he disappeared.”

A foot tapped the floor, “Hmm, shy. Doesn't sound like he meant ta' scare yah or anything. Wonder why he was hangin' around here though. Nobody's died in here.”

The fact that he could tell no one had died in the washracks was a little unsettling but Smokescreen stayed quiet to let Jazz figure out what to do. After a moment or two in thought, Jazz finally spoke up, obviously not speaking to the Praxian. “Hey! Can you hear me?! I jus' wanna talk tah' yah!”

Nothing. Only that annoying drip from the shower head. 

“Hmph. Really shy. Might have to do this the hard way then. But first, lets go someplace more comfortable. Other folk might wanna use the washracks an' all.” Pretending to dust off his thighs, the Porsche stood and urged Smokescreen out and down several halls until they reached the back end of ship. Finding an unused room, one partially destroyed but cleared out as it had yet to be refurbished into something useful, Jazz swept around for any lurkers and tugged the other mech inside. After checking to make sure the lights were working properly, the Gatekeeper sat down in the middle of the room. 

“Are you going to do a summoning?” Smokes couldn't stop himself from asking. His wings wiggled, as he bounced on his heels. This was getting sooooo good!

Obviously trying to bite back a grin and look stern, Jazz utterly failed, “You are enjoying this way too much.”

“Jaaazzzz” Smokescreen knelt and slumped against the other mech. “Ghooooossstttt!” he stated as if that would explain everything. 

Snorting through his laughter, Jazz shoved him off and pretended to be serious. “Yes. I am summoning a ghost. Do not disturb me mortal. This is serious business.” He flashed a toothy grin as Smokescreen flopped onto his back and tried to swallow his giggles. “Seriously though, I am gonna summon a ghost.”

Pulling himself up, Smokscreen scooted back a few more inches and brought his knees up to his chest, innocent look on his face. He was totally not going anywhere. With another chuckle, Jazz vented slowly and shifted a little. His visor went from blue back to the strange silvery color it had been in the rec room. A shiver tingled along Smokescreen's sensor, screaming at him that something dangerous was at his side, something old and alien. He locked his limbs in place. After taking a deep vent, the Gatekeeper spoke. 

“I know you are here. I wish to speak. COME.” 

His lilting words deepened to a rolling boom, multiple voices speaking as one. Smokescreen flinched in startlement and his plating clamped down as much as it possibly could. He was surprised the base alarms didn't go off. Jazz's voice had been very loud. Everyone in the base should have heard it and come wondering. 

For a moment or so, nothing happened. The air was still and silent, tense to the point of being almost brittle. Jazz did not move so Smokescreen did not either. To do so would have been wrong. 

The corners of the rooms grew dark, the lights above giving off a faint whine and crackle as several died and Smokescreen wondered if it was the ghost or Jazz himself that was the cause. A shimmering appeared by one wall. It grew, being pulled toward the Gatekeeper like a flimsy snarled ball of wet cloth that expanded and amassed itself into the shape of a mech. Hovering off the floor by a few inches, a transparent and faded green and yellow bot with a surprisingly red helm compared to the rest of him, looked around, lower face covered by a mask. The very round shaped frame combined with the completely surprised and scared body language made him seem harmless. Not what Smokescreen was expecting. But hey, he was still a ghost and this was still a summoning, so he wasn't about to be picky.

“You!” shrieked the minibot, trying to run back through the wall but stopped short as he couldn't pass through as he had before. 

It was little wonder the ghost recognized Jazz. All the dead probably knew what he looked like. Smokescreen wondered, however, how they saw the Gatekeeper. Surely he looked different in the optics of the dead?

Jazz didn't seem fazed by the abject terror he was inspiring. While the ghost tried to flee through the walls, ceiling, and floor, the mech took out his pipe and had a long drag. A musky sweet scent wafted through the room. “Are yah done?” He asked as the ghost realized he couldn't get out. 

“What?”

“The panickin'. Can't tell yah how many times folks freak out when I jus' wanna talk tah 'em.”

Giving Jazz a sidelong look, Smokescreen wanted to side with the ghost. He knew Jazz tried to tone down the scary factor and all, but that didn't change what he was and some fears were rooted too deeply. He may dance and smile and laugh with everyone else, but at the end of the day when the night chased the sun away and curled star-speckled claws into the sky and land, then his voice was a little too strange and his armor a little too immaterial like a costume that didn't quite fit. When all other things grew wary, Jazz smiled with a mouth full of humor and darkness.

He was the line between living and death and deep in their sparks they could never forget it. 

“But!- you-....!?” the ghost seemed flustered and confused. Perhaps he should stop being called ghost. Well, there was one way to fix that. 

Smokescreen scooted closer to Jazz with a silly little shimmy and a winning smile, “Hey, I'm Smokescreen. What's your name?”

Taking his pipe out, Jazz turned and gave him a look. Did you just interrupt my very serious and important ritual of talking to a ghost? And rudely squash the illusion of me being in complete control here? Yes. Yes you did. Rude. I will get you later. With stickers. And you won't see me coming. 

Or at least, that's what Smokescreen thought Jazz was conveying with his glance. It was hard to tell but he knew he hadn't overstepped too much when the corner of Jazz's mouth ticked up. 

The ghost wavered back and forth before answering in a cautious whisper, “Cosmos.” 

“Well Cosmos, it's nice too meet you. If it's not too personal a question, why are you hanging around?” As Smokescreen continued to chat cheerfully with the skittish mini, Jazz looked back at him again. A mildly incredulous look made it's way across his face. So you suddenly know how all this works? You're just gonna take over from here?

I'm getting him calmer, a quick self-satisfied grin from Smokescreen seemed to say as he cut his optics to the black and white mech for a second. You're too scary. 

With a tiny huff, Jazz went back to his pipe and ignored them both. Well fine then. I'll just let you handle the whole thing. See'n as how you don't need my help anyways. 

“Uh......I'm not really sure?” Cosmos looked between the two of them, not understanding whatever silent exchange just occurred. To be fair, a lot more always happened on Smokescreen's side of these things because he couldn't help but add dialogue. “I died with the crash and I've kinda just been stuck here since. Although it's been a lot better now that everyone is awake and doing things. Waaaaay more interesting.”

“Yah couldn't leave the ship?” Jazz lifted his helm in surprise. 

Giving a shrug, Cosmos seemed to have forgotten his previous fear of the mech. Points for Smokescreen! “I tried....... So, uh,.... are you going to make me move on now?” He asked nervously. “Because..... uh.....”

“You don't want to?” Smokescreen broke in gently. 

“Would you?” The ghost threw his servos up and began pacing back and forth. Considering he was still hovering a few inches off the ground it looked a little silly. “Cosmos, deep space reconnaissance officer, explores countless planets and the terrors of the universe but meets his end in a crash. A crash! Inside another ship!!” He threw his servos up again and seemed to have forgotten his audience for the moment. Said audience traded looks at the monologue but made not comment on it. 

“Even if yah don't move on, I can't do nothin' bout how yah died.” 

Spinning around, Cosmos flopped onto the floor so they were now all seated in a rough circle. “I know! But there's still more to do. The war's still going.....”

“Now now, that ain't what it's about. Come on mech, tell meh what's wrong.” Jazz soothed, like he was consoling a friend. Giving off an unhappy warble, the ghost shrank in on himself a little before opening up. His voice came out as a very faint whisper. 

“I don't want my adventures to end here. Even if they weren't great adventures and I never really did anything important......”

Jazz hummed in understanding, “Surely yah want another chance though, right? Tah live again, go on more adventures. The Well is safe. Being a ghost.... it ain't safe. 'Specially with Unicron's spawn runnin' 'round on this planet.” With a frown, Smokescreen looked between the pair. He didn't know being a ghost was dangerous. The popular thought was, if you were dead, you were pretty solid because no one could hurt you anymore. It seemed he'd been wrong. Cosmos however, didn't take well to the Gatekeeper's words.

His optics widened in his angry and distressed state, “But I won't be me! I won't remember all the things I did before! …. and ...and, I didn't wake you all up Just So YOU COULD MAKE ME MOVE ON!!”

As soon as the words slipped out, Cosmos squeaked and covered his face mask. His colors became even more muted and he was almost completely faded out in the dimness of the badly lit room. Smokescreen wings flared back in shock. Even Jazz startled. Cosmos.... had woken them up?

“That explains why the stasis protocols shut off.....” the TIC muttered. None of them had been able to figure out why, the prevailing theory being an earthquake had knocked things loose and the control system had been damaged. It seemed it had been a little more intentional than that. “Why now though? Why wait so long?”

When he realized he'd already slipped up and there was no way to take it back, the ghost slumped and answered, “It took me awhile to learn how to.... touch things? Interact with real things. I didn't mean to wake the Decepticons either. I was trying to just get the Autobots.....”

“But the stasis program wasn't differentiating.” Smokescreen finished, remembering Perceptor explaining as much to the mechs after they'd woken. Cosmos gave another diminished warble and just curled up as much as he could, not moving. 

Jazz sighed. “Yah don't wanna move on.” A negative head shake. “In that case, I could force yah but I don't wanna. But yer gonna be in danger so we gotta find somethin' fer yah to put yer essence in. Like a safe box or somethin'. If somethin' or someone tries tah grab yah, you'll just end up back at the safe box.” he explained slowly, working the idea out. 

“I like that idea!” That perked up the ghost, his colors returning stronger.

“But there's a catch.” Jazz warned as Smokescreen groaned. 

“There's always a catch.”

Snorting, the TIC whapped him gently on the shoulder plate, “That's how thin's work. I don't make these rules mech.”

“What's the catch?” Cosmos demanded. 

A fidget and a sigh. Jazz rubbed a thumb along his pipe and the Praxian in the room twitched a little. He'd managed to make himself forget that thing was so close to him. “The catch is that if yah tie yerself to an object, a safe box, then if that object gets destroyed, two thin's could happen. One, yah get a straight ticket tah the Well, no stops. Which ain't that bad. Two is bad. Yah could just cease tah exist. Depends on how the object is destroyed an' who does it.”

“Oh.”

“This one's on yah mech. Not mah choice to make.” 

Cosmos thought it over. While he was thinking it over, Smokescreen rolled the whole situation around in his head, twisting it this way and that to look at all the angles. Maybe if they.... hm... And as he pulled the whole thing apart, a sudden question that had never been answered came up. 

“Hey!” The other two looked at him as he straightened. “Why were you in the washracks earlier?”

“Oooooooh. That's right. Lookin' fer a peep show?” Jazz grinned evilly as Cosmos squeaked and his entire being seemed to go a strange shade of muted amber. He waved his servos out in front of himself. 

“No no no! I was passing through to.... -it was an accidennt! I just saw your mirrors- … they were really shiny! I wasn't....!”

Continuing to be a horrible person, Jazz cackled and leaned over to singsong right in Smokescreen's audios, “Heeeeeyyyy Smokes, yah got an admirer!” 

Cosmos practically wailed in denial, “It's not like that.” Unable to handle it anymore, the minibot ghost's armor flattened and his entire form squished down into a soft ball of embarrassed ghostly matter barely bigger than two servos. 

“Jazz! Quite embarrassing him!” the Praxian smacked the smaller frame with one of his wings. For all the good it did. The mech just leaned forward to pat the ghost-ball and gently pull the sides up like he was playing with a bunch of silly putty.

“Smooooooooooosh.”

“JAZZ!!” Smokescreen cried, scandalized. “You can't do that!” 

“Says who?” Squishing the sides of ghost-ball Cosmos, he continued to make terrible sound affect in between crooning softly at the poor mech. Smokescreen groaned. 

“Do you normally embarrass the dead?”

A shifty look, hesitation on his lips. Oooooh, he did not. “Maaaaayyyybbbeeee?” Frag, yes he did. 

“Cosmos.” Smokes sighed. “Cosmos, it's fine. My mirrors are distracting. They're supposed to be. Which is why I don't clean them when other people are around. I'm not upset.” Slowly, the little ball uncurled and grew bigger, into the fidgeting shape of the round mini. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. It's fine. I'm not upset, promise.”

Some of the nervous tension left his frame, “Oh. Okay, thank you.” As the conversation stalled, he turned back to Jazz. “ I um... I decided, I would like to risk it. Staying here.”

“Alright mah mech.” Jazz chuckled. “Yah get bravery points fer that. An' I know just the thin' tah use as a safe box.” He turned to Smokescreen and wiggled his fingers. That dang pipe seemed to be finally gone. 

Narrowed optics. Smokescreen twitched. “I thought you said safe box.”

“It don't have tah be an actual box.” He grinned, poking along Smokescreen's armor. “Anythin' will do, say like a mirror...... An ittty bitty shiny mirror from a mech who's got lottsa them. ”

“Wait!” Cosmos finally caught on. 

With a sigh, Smokescreen smacked Jazz's wandering servo with a wing. “Yeah yeah, okay. This is an, 'I'm sorry you have to put up with this horrible person who's in charge of the afterlife and all that.' Because someone can't stop themselves from embarrassing the dead!” He pulled off his glamour and shifted to let all his pieces move about freely. “I also want a promise to help me haunt and terrorize some people later.”

“You want me to haunt somebody? After this?.... Can you see through that blind?”

“Yeah, I can see through it. And not right after this.” Smokescreen smirked. “After I convince some people to watch a horror movie with me. I'm an illusionist, so between the two of us, we should be able to scare a few people.”

“Sure?”

“Oh, an' ah'm the horrible person here.” mocked Jazz. Ignoring him, the Praxian pulled a mirror out of the air near his side. Part of his abdomen, it was a small piece of armor and he's grow it back quick enough. Faster if Ratchet found out and decided to patch up the missing piece himself. 

He handed it to Jazz who took it only a little solemnly. After brushing his hands over it, he held it out in front of Cosmos and..... did something. Smokescreen wasn't sure what. But one second Cosmos was there, edges rattling and glitching like bad visual perception, and the next he was not. After a few seconds, a fine mist drifted out of the mirror and Cosmos reshaped himself. And took the mirror Jazz handed him. The minibot's optics got big as he realized he was actually holding a physical object.

“That was...... kinda nice actually. Am I supposed to feel more solid?”

Not giving a direct answer, Jazz grinned. “Sure.”

“Exactly how many times have you done this?” Smokescreen gave him a wary look. The black and white' mech's mouth twitched and he redirected the subject. 

“So, don't worry about not being able to leave the ship. I'm gonna go fix that. Like, right now.” The dimness in the room vanished with a surprising pop. It had been Jazz after all. Either as a side effect from using his abilities or just because he wanted a spooky atmosphere, Smokescreen couldn't say. While the door-winged mech and the ghost protested, Jazz gave a cheery grin and slipped out the door with a two fingered salute. Making a groan of aggravation, Smokes looked at Cosmos. The mini seemed quite lost all of a sudden. 

“Aaaaaand he just bailed on us. So, how do you feel about horror movies?”

“Um..... they scare me?”

An incredulous look, “But duuuuuuude. Your'e a ghooooooooost.”

“................” A shrug with open palms up. 

“Well, don't worry about it. We'll start with fun and cheesy ones. Although we do have to go tell the officers that you're here...... Frag it Jazz!” At Cosmos startled look, Smokescren explained while he tucked his glamour back on, “The slagger left so now I have to go tell Prowl.”

With an aggrieved sigh, he stood and started toward the door. Cosmos followed after, not quite floating anymore but actually walking on the ground. His footsteps didn't make any noise. Smokescreen gave him a side look. 

“Wanna go watch a movie first and then go see the officers?”

“And find a safe place to put this?” Cosmos waved the small mirror that had been Smokescreen's up until a few minutes ago. 

“Yeaaaaaahhhh, that's probably a good idea.” His wings zipped straight up as he opened the door and they headed back to the more traveled part of base. “New plan. Tell Optimus because he knows how to take care of objects that need protecting,” a tip of his helm toward the mirror. “and then convince him to watch a horror movie with us. He's the biggest wimp with horror movies but he likes the cheesy ones so we can have a party. Sound good?”

He got the feeling that under the face mask, Cosmos was smiling widely, “Sounds brilliant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Jazz is in mythverse was completely inspired by 'Sugar Skull Jazz' by crabapplered and GoblinCatKC.  
> Song: Slow, Love, Slow by Nightwish
> 
> Smokescreen: Mental, Illusionist.  
> Mentals have powers associated with mental abilities; such as telepathy, telekinesis, empaths, or in Smokescreen's case- illusions. He can project what he imagines but unlike Hound's projections, his not only look real but fool all the senses including touch. However, if his concentration is broken, the illusion disappears.  
> Some mentals look normal and others do not, so it is common for some to use glamours. Without his glamour, Smokescreen's optics are covered by a gray cloth. His wings and other parts of his armor are mirrors that hover around his body and his servos are not attached.
> 
> (Note: Cosmos mentioned accidentally waking the Decepticons with the Autobots from stasis. While most of the Decepticons were on the Nemesis, there were some on the Ark when it crashed. There was a small fight when everyone woke up, and the Decepticons fled. They found what remained of the Nemesis in the ocean and woke the rest of the Cons from stasis.)


	16. Pyre

Cramped within the battleship that was never meant to house mechs for long periods of time, the Decepticons had become restless. With hardly an argument from the officers, the mechs were outside and racing along the beach. 

Faint starlight lit upon the surging waves in barely noticeable twinkles. Clawed feet, tires, and hooves marked up the sand in strange patterns. Some strolled, too content with all the open space to run. They spread out, disappearing behind boulders scattered along the shoreline or higher up into the pine forest that bordered the ocean, while others simply twirled above silently on the sea breezes. Invisible to the earthen creatures that slumbered below. Watched by the nocturnal ones that saw a bigger predator and decided to hunker down for safety. Eerie cries bounded through the night.

Once satisfied with their romp, they all circled back; pulled by familiarity on this alien world, pulled by ties shared in blood, gun oil, and the smoke of burning cities. 

They straggled in, grouped in twos and threes. Optics of varying shades the only color in the darkness, until Megatron lit a fire. Not for light. What need did they have for light? No. For warmth maybe, kinship to the burning in their cores, the sparks, the flame, the fire. For another sense of familiarity, perhaps. In the heat of battle and warfare, fire became an old acquaintance one knew intimately. 

The Combaticons started it first, Brawl giving off a deep thrum in his chest, a massive bell that tolled the beginning. Like drunken mechs, Vortex and Swindle started to spin around the blaze lit in the sand pit. Feet kicked up, as if they couldn't remain still when they wanted to fly across the ground. Astrotrain joined in by pulling out a weathered steel drum and knocking on it in a steady but quick rhythm. With shrill cries, blades scraping across bone, the Insecticons chittered high and keening. 

Soundwave's cassettes jumped up, stomping and spinning. A few wavery howls spilled from their throats. Everyone found themselves lifting their voices or their bodies into whatever this strangeness was. 

Was it a victory song? A hunt song from before the war or during? None of them remembered.

It was alien, in this place, on this world. The sounds belonged to another planet, one of metal and steel and crystal. It was deep and low like the thundering of a massive core reactor far beneath the surface. Faint and ringing as metal chimes danced against one another. But feral and hungry all the same.

A sliver of the moon hung in the sky like a slashed smile. The seekers flared their wings, throwing their helms back and mouthing the words. Ramjet let out the drone of a horn, the sound bouncing off the moving bodies in echoes. Teeth clacked, feet stomped, and engines buzzed and rumbled beneath the tense harmony. In the rapidly flicking shadows and orange light, optics burned.

They danced around the fire, a reminder of their world, their war, themselves; and they sang. If it could be called singing. On broken notes of drums and the shivered cries of the dying, they raised their voices toward the sky. It was a funeral dirge, a solemn prayer to their planet and their lost home. The Decepticons wailed their misery and determination to continue on, bring back their home, as they leaped and danced in the night. 

They keened their loss with the savageness of a broken thing tempered by bitter mourning, an old wolf that would go out in a fight instead of lying down to eternal slumber. 

Drumming slowed and bodies knelt down on the shore. Sand was kicked over the fire, dimming it to nothing in the darkness. All tones merged into a hum. It faded out, one by one, until the drumming stopped and Megatron finished the last note, a hymn that stalked through the night on thin claws and silent wings.

As one, they stared up at the star strewn sky and wondered which light was Cybertron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They all know none of them are Cybertron. The planet went dark awhile ago.


	17. Once Bitten, Twice Shy

“STARSCREAM! Look what I found can I keep them please please please! I'll be really good and -”

“Skywarp!” Starscream shrieked harshly to get his trinemate to shut up and actually take a breath. The black and purple dragon's words were barely comprehensible. “Three words or less. What did you find?”

“Pegasii younglings.” 

Weaving between the pines, Thundercracker nearly choked. “Younglings?! There can't be younglings here!” 

“Well there are! I'll show you.” Skywarp started tugging and pushing the other seekers toward the edge of the forest where the trees gave way to flatlands and plains of grass. They had just been resting from a practice session before returning to the air. Trust Skywarp to find something interesting. 

Wings smacking the other when the pushing became too insistent, Starscream huffed, “You probably saw minibots. Honestly Skywarp, no one has seen younglings since.....since.... well damn. I can't remember.” He mused with a frown. “It's been a long time! There aren't anymore younglings.” The dragon finished haughtily as they came out of the trees and started climbing down a subtle slope.

Five pegasii younglings chasing each other around in circles just below them challenged that statement. The two older mechs froze, looked at each other to make sure they weren't hallucinating, and then looked back at the younglings who hadn't yet noticed them. Skywarp chirped, happy to be proven right. 

“Told you so!”

“Whooaa!” One of the ones in alt mode heard the dragon and looked up, sliding to a halt. A mechling in bipedal mode didn't have enough time to stop and crashed right into the first. Wings flapped in distress as they tried to untangle themselves. The others quickly noticed what was going on. 

“Wow! They're shiny!” “Get up Fireflight! There's people!” “What are they?!” 

Starscream winced. He'd forgotten how high-pitched and shrill youngling voices could be. Not that he had any right to complain. Puffing up his crystal plating to show off to the obviously awed little audience, he strolled down the last few feet and settled in front of the group. “I am Starscream, a seeker. The fastest type of crystal dragon.” He announced proudly before gesturing with a wing at the other two. “These are my trinemates.”

“I'm Skywarp.” Dropping onto his belly, the mech lashed his tail excitedly and wiggled. Two of the younglings edged closer, one going so far as to reach out and poke the dragon's front paw before prancing back with a squeal. 

Giggling Skywarp reached out slowly to poke the youngling back. It quickly devolved into play with several of the pegasii prancing around the dragon. One brave one was daring enough to scramble onto his back. Not that Skywarp seemed to care. “You're wings are sooooo fluffy!”

The younglings' wings were indeed ridiculously fluffy. And hilariously disproportionate as they were almost taller than the younglings themselves. The brave one settled on the seeker's back gave a prompt reply. “And yours are see-through. Why do they do that?”

“Because they're crystal.” Starscream sighed. “They're only partially translucent.”

One of the ones still in altmode edged closer to him, hooves prancing nervously with a mischievous energy before he circled around to explore TC. Said mech lifted his front paws out of the way and kept a wary optic on the youngling. “Um, Starscream. Not to ruin this, extraordinarily event that it is, but younglings usually have creators. And if they've survived this much of the war, very dangerous creators.”

“We don't have creators.”

“Can we keep them then?! Please please please-”. Skywarp started up again as Thundercracker looked at him in exasperation.

“They're fliers. Youngling fliers who need space. Do you really want to take pegasii younglings back to our underwater base?” Before the mech could answer TC's question, (most likely with a completely confident 'yes'), the younglings all chimed in. 

“It's underwater? Ewww, I don't wanna be underwater.” The brave one made a face as he slid off of Skywarp's back and settled against his side.

“How am I supposed to practice fly?”

“Is there an octopus? Or fish. What about a kraken?” A chorus of oooooh's and excitement.

“Do you guys have seamonsters?”

“Is the ocean deep?”

Startled at the onslaught, Starscream just stared at them for a few seconds before halting the tirade. “Yes. The ocean is deep. Would you like me to prove it to you?” Snark started to sneak into the latter question. 

“Starscream!” Thundercracker barked, tail slapping the other in admonishment. The tri-colored dragon hissed and whirled but the bigger mech held his ground. “Someone is taking care of them.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Flaring his wings in annoyance, Starscream turned back to the group. “Who is taking care of you?”

“The Autobots.” A few chorused. The brave one tacked on, “We're Autobots.”

While Thundercracker groaned, the trine leader raised an optic ridge, “Nonsense. You're too young to be Autobots.”

“But we're gonna be!” Protested one of the others. His wings fluffed as he crossed his arms and pouted. 

“Okay, I'm all for fighting Autobots. But not angry and protective Autobots.” Thundercracker flattened himself against the ground and put his front paws over his face. A nuzzle got him to uncover his optics enough to see one of the foals in alt nudging him gently with a tiny headbutt. The youngling's tail flipped about happily. 

Starscream scoffed, “Don't be a coward Thundercracker. We can use them for ransom. Or bait.” 

“But I wanna keep them.....” Skywarp started before a glare from the other dragon told him to shut it. Some of the other younglings seemed to have puzzled out that the seekers might not be very safe. 

“Do you mean kidnapping?” “Bait for what?”

“Are you guys Decepticons?” A particularly quiet and frowny mechling asked with a seriousness that seemed odd for his age.

With an optic roll and exaggerated patience, Starscream answered, “Yes. We are Decepticons. Whatever gave it away, the talk about kidnapping or the symbols on our chest?”

Five pairs of optics studied the purple face on each of the seeker's chests. Brave one squinted. “Is that what the Con symbol is?”

“It looks all sharp and pointy.” “It's supposed to be scary! Duh.” “If you're Decepticons, you're mean!”

Starscream pinched the plating between his optics. Seriously, hadn't anyone taught these younglings anything!? On that note...... “Mechlings, who is your guardian?” So he could figure out which imbecile to demand payment from.....

“Prowl.”

What. 

Oh slag. 

“Yeah, nope. I'm out.” Thundercracker started to get up and opened his wings for liftoff until Starscream reached over to drag him closer with his claws. “Come on Star. Prowl. It's Prowl. I don't want to die.”

His statements were ignored as the trio of dragons hunkered together, the younglings being scattered and pushed just outside of the huddled seekers. Skywarp seemed almost as nervous, “Um Star, not to question your judgment... But I'm totally questioning your judgment.”

“Shut up!” Starscream hissed in frustration.

Thundercracker flexed his wings, trying to break free and failing, “Do we really want to tick off Prowl? Because I don't. I vote we fly off and pretend we never saw them.”

“Wise choice.” A new voice intervened. 

The seekers startled, jumping back and shouting as the realized Prowl was right there! The mech was in alt, helm craned to look down at them, optics cold, and tail lashing in slow but predatory swishes. The sphinx's wings were half open to allow the younglings to rest under them. 

Starscream swore the younglings' optics were smug. No wonder the younglings hadn't been afraid of them. Those little tricksters had looked innocent and fooled them long enough for Prowl to get them! It was a trap!

His traitorous trinemates had started backing up slowly, helms lowered non-threateningly and wings ready for flight. Skywarp laughed nervously. “Prowl! Hi! We were just admiring your younglings. They're really nice! And we're leaving now...... Aauugh!” 

The dragon whirled to see Beachcomber had nipped him on the tail. Howling in terror, Skywarp teleported in a crackle of lightning. Starscream and Thundercracker took to the air immediately, mere specks in the sky within seconds. The younglings watched dumbfounded. 

“Prowl,” started Air Raid, “Why did they panic like that?”

Beachcomber chuckled, “Well, you know I'm a naga, yeah?” Several small helm nods. Prowl's lips twitched up in a smirk. 

“Nagas are extremely venomous.” 

“So Skywarp's gonna die?!” A few of the Aerialbots looked horrified. Prowl winced. 

“Hey hey, calm down little dudes.” Crooned Beachcomber as he swayed over slowly. His top half looked the same as always, but his bottom half was currently all tail. “You know that funky colored sludge I drink every morning? It's keeps my body from making the poison. In case I ever accidentally bite someone.”

A chorus of understanding and relieved noises. The smirk on Prowl's face came back, “Of course, the Decepticons don't know that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nagas: The most venomous of the wildlings. Naga venom is painful and fast acting, affecting and shutting down a mech's systems within a couple moments. If the antidote isn't administered within those first few moments, the mech's spark will gutter soon after.
> 
> Beachcomber consumes a drink made by the medics and scientists that stops his body from creating the poison because he prefers not to harm others and wouldn't wish anyone to actually endure the toxin his body makes. The side effect of the drink however, is that it makes him extremely mellow.


	18. Frozen Midnight

He really wished he had a fast altmode, or any form that was meant for speed actually. 

The clatter of hooves and harsh vents behind him seemed loud in the snow laden forest. Flakes drifted down, not thick enough to cover his tracks. Not that it mattered. His pursuer was close and very quick. Only a blizzard could help him and the night was too still and silent for such a howling storm. 

He could pull on his glamour but a vehicle mode was useless out here with the thick snow. And even on an open road he might not be fast enough. The only choice was to run and hope. Hope for what? He didn't know. Anything that could save him. 

Branches snapped. A whicker and squeal. The mech's crystalline spark shuddered. 

Jumping over a ravine, Scavenger rolled and was up in seconds, dashing through the trees like a wind gust. The thud of someone landing told him his pursuer was catching up. Steps quickened into a canter. Scavenger held back a wail of terror. 

Sliding down a hill, he edged right in his frantic run. A flash of pale silver floating in the darkness gave a glimpse of the hunter above him before his sight was cut off by closely tangled oaks. The Decepticon's vents heaved in exhaustion and panic. Hot air from his overheated internals blew out in clouds of dissipating white. He couldn't see very far ahead, just barren trees and snow that were swallowed up by shadows. 

Behind him, the karkadann followed. The Decepticon may have had a head start, but Mirage was faster. 

Leaping down the incline and landing to Scavenger's right, Mirage pushed himself sideways to knock the other mech over. But Scavenger scrambled just out of the way. With his hooves sliding on the slippery terrain, the Autobot nearly went down before righting himself. His quarry had another few seconds advantage. 

Giving off a wicker of frustration, Mirage ran after again. This chase had been going on too long. While the crystal elemental could do just fine with minimal amounts of energon, Mirage could not. And his levels were running low. He'd ignored the warnings the last several miles they'd run but the pangs in his tank were starting to become distracting. 

Mirage was hungry.

Ignoring the ache, he lunged into a canter, streaking between the thin pillars of tree trunks as the world around him blurred. Flashes of black, grays, and muted browns flew by. Hooves kicked up snow. Scavenger came into his sights again, ever so loud with his crashing footsteps in the cold darkness. A sound not unlike a horn blew out of Mirage's throat, teeth bared in victory before he realized what he was doing and clamped his mouth shut. No! The Decepticon was not prey! He just had to catch him and retrieve the data-disc. Nothing more!

Ahead, the forest parted around a small lake. The top was unmoving with it's waves frozen into a thick sheet of ice. Seeing no other options, Scavenger scrambled out onto the surface. The sound of hooves halted. The Decepticons slowed halfway to the middle and carefully turned himself around. 

Mirage paced the shore, unwilling to walk out onto the ice, even as thick as it was. With the temperature below twenty, he didn't want to risk falling through. It would be terribly cold. Flakes drifted down softly, at odds with the tension in the air. Mirage lowered his helm, bladed horn pointed forward in threat as he called out, “Give me the data-disc. Give it to me and I'll leave.”

Those were the first words spoken since the chase had begun. Scavenger twitched at the sound but shook his head in denial, vents still heaving.

“I'll get in a lot of trouble.”

“Is it worth it?” Mirage wasn't sure what he was implying. 

Is it worth being chased? Is it worth the dangers tonight? Is it worth being corned on ice by a hungry karkadann?

His insides curled, teeth aching for something to bite. He wanted so badly to go out onto the ice. To get closer. The hunger inside urged him on. The Autobot dug his hooves into the snow and gravel and locked his limbs. He wasn't going out onto the ice. He would not eat another Cybertronian, even an enemy. Scavenger seemed to take his words by the worst meaning, if the dulling of color in his crystal plating was anything to go by. Amber optics widened, the fear evident even all the way by the shore. 

The hungry part of Mirage crowed. The rest felt sick. 

“Oh-okay.” Trying to hide his shaking, the mech pulled the data-disc out and held it up to be seen before kneeling. He slid it across the ice toward shore. If fell short by a few feet. 

Resisting his own trembling, for an entirely different reason than Scavenger, the karkadann carefully stepped out and transformed. He grabbed the disc to stow away and quickly backed up off the ice. Thankfully, the Decepticon seemed to think it was because he was keeping to his word and not from fear of what might happen if he didn't move back. 

“I'm leaving now.” Mirage stated carefully, for his enemy and to force himself into the movement. It was slightly easier to focus in bipedal mode but just barely. The mech turned away and started walking. Out on the lake, Scavenger remained kneeling but vented a sigh of relief. He inched his way forward. 

There was no warning. One second the mech was there. In the next, a thunderous and sharp crack rent the night as ice chunks and water flew up. Even inches thick in the dead of winter, ice really wasn't meant to hold beings as heavy as crystal elementals or most Cybertronians for that matter. The ice should have groaned beforehand, tiny cracks appearing as a warning. There was always a warning in books and movies, but no. It was over in a instant. 

Mirage's sensors were on high alert from the chase. The sudden and unexpected noise threw them for a loop. He froze, half-turned to stare at the gaping hole in the ice. Several seconds passed before he realized what he was seeing. By the time he'd figured it out, Scavenger had surfaced in a frenzy of fingers clawing at the ice chunks and shrieking crystal grinding against itself in outright panic. He slid back under the black water. 

Staring, the Autobot couldn't comprehend what was going on. Didn't Scavenger know.....?

Apparently not, by the second attempt to climb out. 

“Oooooh,” Mirage groaned, pinching his nasal ridge. The smart idea would be to leave. He was hungry and it was dangerous to stay any longer. But at this rate, Scavenger would either sink and realize he could just walk to shore or, the more likely scenario, exhaust himself into stasis and end up frozen at the bottom of the lake. It would be awhile before anyone found him. 

“Scavenger!” He yelled. Said mech didn't appear to hear him. “You can't stay afloat! Just sink and walk over!”

The crystal elemental was in too much of a state of fear to either hear or understand him. Part of that was probably Mirage's fault. “Oh for the love of Primus....”

Muttering to himself, the mech stalked out on the ice. He slowed as he came closer to the broken edges. Thankfully, he didn't weigh nearly as much as the Con. Mirage grabbed Scavenger's servos and heaved when he resurfaced. With an anchor to steady himself, the mech was finally able to get a grip and scramble up onto the ice once more. They quickly moved onto the thicker sheeting near shore as the chunks around the edge started to shatter and break off. 

The water on Scavenger's plating froze and started to crack off while the mech stumbled onto ground and promptly sat down. He was too exhausted to care that Mirage was right next to him. He gave up. The world was out to get him. 

“Scavenger.” Mirage huffed as he stared down at the miserable pile of crystal, “Haven't you ever been in large bodies of water or other liquids before?”

A helm shake no. The mech buried his face in his knees. The bot sighed, “Your base is underwater.”

“That wasn't my idea!” A protest, although he still didn't lift his head. “We always get one of the others to fly us out or use the flight charms.” His excuse trailed off into mutterings. Staring at him in disbelief, Mirage snorted and started to walk away. Best to leave now. His hunger was insisting that the mech was easy prey, tired and unmoving right in from of him. 

“When in deep water, sink and then walk to shore. Unless you have something to propel you. I'm not saving you again.” 

“Goody two-shoes Autobot.” Well, someone had been watching earth media. That fact shouldn't have surprised the bot but it did. Mirage turned to give a cool look, completely unfazed by the glare he was getting. Somehow such things weren't scary when you'd seen the same mech panicked not five minutes before. Said mech who now had chunks of ice forming on his plating that he was trying to break off half-heartedly.

“Careful. I'm hungry.” Lips curled to flash sharpened denta. Scavenger immediately lost his newfound bravado, plating clamping down as he leaned away. “And this didn't happen.”

“'Course not.” The con muttered. He continued to watch the other warily. “You caught me, took the disc, and let me go. Nothing else.”

“Precisely.” 

With that last word, Mirage jumped into alt and took off as quickly as he could away from the easy prey on the lake shore. Emptiness gnawed at his insides, thoughts of turning back dancing across his mind. It would be quick. He could make it painless. No one would find out. 

Yes. Yes they would. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't. Mirage had not spent his entire life refuting those stereotypes about his kind just to turn around and make them true. He would not be that kind of monster. 

Pushing himself faster, legs pumping, the karkadann flew through the night until only silence and the sound of hooves through snow accompanied him. Mirage severely hoped no one else crossed his path before he got back to base.


	19. We're Not Hibernating, We're Just Napping

Earth had some extreme weather at times. And while the deep and bitter cold couldn't hurt most of them unless they were out for days in it without energon, that didn't mean the bots were comfortable in the cold. Thank Primus the Decepticon Leader was a Manticore. Those wildlings hated the cold with a passion and so everyone settled down whenever the temperature dropped too far. 

There were in fact a few mechs who really couldn't be out in the cold for their own safety. Inferno for one, was a little disappointed that he couldn't join the snowball fight the others had started, as every bit of snow he touched turned to steam. But he did enjoy making a cover for his team to surprise the others with before he felt too chilled and had to retreat back to the lava pools inside. 

Beachcomber could barely go outside at all. Nagas, like Manticores, were made for warmer climates. The low temperatures wouldn't damage him right away but they still felt highly uncomfortable. And made him very sleepy. 

Deep in January, on a gray day that heralded ice crystals on plating as soon as one left the safety of the Ark, Skyfire sat atop the thrusters of the ship. He preferred to keep guard on days like these since the cold was perfect for him. Snowflakes twirled between his fingers as he idly flapped his double wings, creating little currents of air to stir up the snow. Everyone once in awhile Cosmos would come by and dance around in the tiny cyclones before disappearing again, using his newfound freedom to roam up and down the mountain. 

It was quiet outside, and inside too. 

Instead of patrols or sparring or any sort of thing they normally did when off duty, most of the crew was recharging in the rec room. As it was one of the few rooms that was big enough for Prowl's alt mode, the sphinx had taken over most of the side wall with his tail looping back to drape over the other mechs around him. Some were in alt mode, some were not. The Twins had settled themselves right between Prowl's paws and dropped right off curled around one another. Springer had smooched himself up against Hot Rod and Inferno, both of whom were dumping large amounts of heat, even in bipedal mode. Most of the minibots were in a pile by the sphinx's flank while the Aerialbots were snuggled on his back between his drawn-in wings. And right in the middle of the pile Beachcomber slumbered contently, warm despite the frigid temperature outdoors. 

The door creaked quietly as Optimus opened it manually and poked his head in. Sneaking forward, he draped the last blanket he could find over Ratchet's shoulders. 

The medic had crept in after almost everyone else was asleep and had only meant to close his optics and take a short nap as he leaned up against Ironhide. But that short nap had started hours ago and the Prime wasn't going to wake him up, whether he was supposed to be on shift or not. 

Stepping over a pair of stray wings and some legs, Optimus carefully untangled Wheeljack's tail from where it was caught between Trailbreaker and Hound. That would hurt later. The engineer was happily sprawled on his back in alt and making happy little rumbles in his sleep. Chuckling, Optimus moved the tail to a safer spot and made his way out of the pile before turning to survey them all contently. It was funny how they all looked harmless and innocent when napping. 

Prowl opened his optics a slit to look at their leader. Optimus just crinkled his optics in a smile as the sphinx went back to recharge. With a happy sigh, the red and blue mech turned and snuck out again. For once he was almost caught up with all his paperwork and had plenty of time to finish it. 

He hummed a quiet song as he left. Sleepy winter days were the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been awhile guys. I have a few more chapters I definitely want to write and I'm going to see if I can wrap this up around 25 chapters. As I stated in the beginning, this isn't so much a story with a plot, but more of a lot of one-shots that loosely relate because they're in the same place about the same group of people.


	20. Undignified Hooligans - Now in Decepticon Flavors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave is tired dad #1

“FREEDOM!” 

Barely waiting for the flight charms to wear off, the Combaticons landed on the rocky shore with loud crashes and thumps and immediately scattered in every direction as if they'd forgotten they were supposed to be together. Megatron had sanctioned an energon raid now that the weather had finally warmed but it seemed almost everyone was too busy enjoying being outdoors to head towards the power station they'd targeted. Skywarp didn't even bother to transform back to bipedal mode and was simply rolling around in the grass on his back, wings flapping happily and tail wiggling. 

Starscream narrowed his optics as he saw Astrotrain doing barrel-rolls above. “Can you all please stop running around like rust-bitten hooligans?! Have some dignity!” 

A dark cloud slid over the waves before coalescing into a mechanoid shape, gaining form and details that resolved into Soundwave. He stepped carefully over the salt-coated boulders and silently surveyed the apparent breakdown of command. Rumble emerged from his shadow and pulled at his servo.

“Can we run around like hooligans without dignity?” The cassette gave a crooked grin as he asked, his siblings appearing and staring up at the silent mech as well. Soundwave barely had time to look down at the cassette before Rumble took it as an affirmative, “Okay, thanks!”

The small Decepticons bolted and started to holler as they played some sort of game only they knew the rules too, save for Ravage who disappeared into the nearby woods. Tilting his helm, Soundwave silently sighed and went to stand next to Thundercracker to wait for the crew to settle down. Shifting his wing out of the way, the indicolite dragon remained on his front as he sunbathed. 

“Soundwave! Get your pests under control!” Starscream shrieked before stomping with a frustrated growl as said pests started to copy his words in absurdly high-pitched voices. “Lord Megatron!” he whined. 

Megatron however, wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to his irritated air commander, finding too much amusement in chasing the cars on the nearest road and swatting at them halfheartedly. After a moment or two of the humans screaming and swerving around, the manticore let them pass and bound after the next automobile to come by. Fluted trills above gave away the Coneheads, although they were difficult to see through the cloud banks. They dived down to snatch at the ocean spray. During the second dive, Blitzwing surged up out of the water to try to drag one underwater but they dodged out of his reach while piping curses and insults. Ramjet dropped again and slashed at the kelpie when he made a grab. Triumphant sound abounded over the waves as the trine went back to the clouds, Blitzwing's snarls following before he disappeared below the waves again.

On the ground, Starscream continued to fail at corralling the energized mechs into the terrifying Decepticon force they were supposed to be. Most of the crew was having too much fun running him in circles until the commander finally lost his patience and transformed to spit fire and chase them. Hysterical and semi-fearful yells made Soundwave sigh again. Optics only opening slightly, Thundercracker swished his tail. He shifted again so Soundwave could lean against the boulder they were next to, if he so chose. 

It was going to be awhile before they managed to raid the power station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave: Mystic, wraith. Naturally a formless creature of ashes and shadows. Can take Cybertronian appearance and solidity. Can also disappear into shadows and vanish from the corporeal world, sliding along the darkness and reappearing at strange times. It's said that wraiths are the unjustly slain dead but it hasn't been verified.  
> No one knows why Soundwave follows Megatron's orders, although there are rumors about a life debt. They also don't know why he adopted some Nephren or why said Nephren listen to him. Anyone who asks Rumble or Frenzy gets a different answer every time. 
> 
> Blitzwing: Otherkin, Kelpie. Tends to stick to very large strong equine shape with piranha teeth, or avian shape with massive dragon-like wings. Never takes small shape although he could. Kelpies are a sibling species to Pooka but tend to be much bigger. 
> 
> Coneheads: Elementals, Wind-Sky. Often live on wind currents and are easily distracted. Plate-like metal armor, clawed toes, very long clawed servos with last two fingers on either side longer than the others which are used to latch onto things. They have flared metal feathers around feet and shoulder padding that tends to puff up when agitated.


	21. Visions and Secrets

Megatron was in a good mood, the thick taste of victory resounding a clarion call with every step. They could feel it through the ocean waves, in the echoed ring of metal walls and when the door swished open. 

They sat on the floor in a circle, helms bowed in the bare and empty room.. A bowl of dark liquid lay between the trio. No sound or movement stirred the air until the manticore strode in. As the one facing the entrance, Viewfinder slowly looked up. 

//Clash of metal-claws rip through armor-smoke clogs vents-“Autobots! Retreat!”-a victory howl//

“Reflector” Megatron's smug rumble drew their attention away from the flicker of images and sounds that distracted them. His crocodile smile drew the air around them taunt as violin strings, cutting and too thin to see before they sliced through bodies. “I come bearing gifts.” 

Acidstorm and Sunstorm came through next, the latter pausing to partially kneel before straightening. It was the best bow he could manage with his servos full. As one, Reflector nodded back gravely. Always respectful, that one. And why the fiery god was often chosen to bring them their gifts. As the pair started to lay their objects out, Spectro moved the bowl out of the way to a dusty shelf nearly invisible on the far side of the tower room. The other two remained seated but raised their helms to watch. 

They were small, compared to other mechs, but not cassette sized. With pale wide optics and thin bodies, the sibyls looked like younglings. Ones who weren't above the occasional bout of blackmailing to get what they wanted. 

Barely containing his anticipation, the Decepticon warlord clapped his clawed hands together gleefully. “We gained a victory today, and I expect to gain another! Find me something useful, a weakness in the Autobot forces so I can crush them. There are so few Autobots left!”

Unsaid by the others, was how few of them there were left as well. 

Unspoken was the fact that they were a dying race with little hope for the future. 

In response to the manticore's proclaim, Spyglass spoke in a dry rasp. “Ticks and tallies counter the balance. In the end, useless. The last mark settles the score.”

“Hmm.” Ruby optics narrowed. A neutral response from the larger mech. Whether he understood what the seers were saying or not was impossible to tell. “Find me their weaknesses.”

And with that he swept out of the room, the high of winning still swirling around his form like eddies in a stream. Sunstorm and Acidstorm each nodded as they left. Reflector remained still and quiet until the door closed and silence once again enveloped them. 

The other two stood and surveyed their gifts. A claw ripped from it's owner lay on the floor to their right while blood carefully collected in a bowl quivered as they approached. Scales, feathers, and bits of armor torn off in the heat and madness of battle to be grabbed afterwords had been set apart with enough space to walk between. How thoughtful of Sunstorm.

Without words they started slowly through the objects, each covering a different section. The broken handle of a blade brought nothing, nor did some shards of armor save for faint images of faces. Nothing concrete. Spyglass paused at a feather.

//Prowl-a wing flashes forward to shield small faces and bodies// 

Ah, the sphinx had young to take care of now. It was nothing new though. The seekers had said as much. But as the vision continued, the other components took notice and watched too. 

//wind-sky-aerialbots-adults but with no wing-flying as jets//

“How strange.” murmured Viewfinder, but it was useless and not for the here or now, so they left it and continued through the rising waves of 

//sound-light-color//

Blood from Trailbreaker in the bowl showed them a dizzying array of noise and the taste of something heavy like a stone on the tongue. The longer they slogged through, the more it felt like drowning until they pulled away to move on. Visions from the scattered and broken offerings cascaded through Reflector's minds before they even came close to all the objects. 

//An empty doorway of stone on an asteroid floating in the depths of blue/black space-a burning ring in a middle of a desolate city-two moons behind a mountain with echoes of the Autobot's essence at the base-the mountain rising and turning into a cybertronian city-

-“It was never meant to last.”-A spark casing cracks and shatters into opal shards that become stars in an empty universe-

\- “Where are you?”-

-time flies forward in leaps and bounds before reversing to-underground structures of vastness they'd never seen-empty and silent as the core no longer creates life-

-optimus and megatron stood facing each other in the ruins of Iacon-wreaths of despair and hope twined with stars upon their helms-tendrils of darkness reaching out from the wrinkles in the fabric of space-the sickly black yellow violet of Unicron's sickness lunging forward to pierce through Megatron's spark-//

That was important!

But the vision started to slip away. It wasn't strong enough. In desperation, the seers dropped their guard and threw themselves forward into the void. A cyclone of visions engulfed them,opening it's maw to swallowed them down to the places outside of physicality and time. 

//screaming-screaming-screaming-thrashing against the inside of their minds

\- “Did you hear-” “It's the beginning, you know.” “...and the nature of life and death are irrevocably altered." “-isn't working!”-

-collapsing dimensions-shattering glass that fractured into opposites and infinities-

-dark eyes ?blue? peering at them from near and yet very far away before disappearing-

-“We're going to play a game.” a voice states with finality. “And you will lose.”

-bones of a beast far larger than they could imagine-half buried in the ground-change little as time washes past them and the landscape erodes and builds in eons-ebony shifting to bronze and rising-towers sprouting as alien flowers that grew into Iacon's familiar silhouette-

-zeros and ones and zeros and ones-numerals melting into jeweled dragonflies that ate through the lock and escaped the cage-

-repeating visions of Megatron in different places-different times-winning-losing-dying//

As a red haze started to disintegrated their edges and threatened to unmake their minds, Reflector yanked themselves back. They stood in their quiet room again, venting heavily. Spectro started to collapse until Viewfinder reached out to steady him. Spyglass retched in dry heaves. 

Moments passed as they collected themselves back to the right place and time. Slowly, venting evened and sparks calmed their frantic pulsing until they were under control again. Dull white optics gazed at the sad assortment lying before them. With an exhausted sigh, they circled what was left. 

A cracked scale, more armor bits here and there brought only faint visions and sounds. Pale ghosts compared to the ocean they'd been submerged and sinking in before. 

The claw drew them warily. Suncore. Hot Rod //Rodimus// A presence hovered around it.

//fire-warmth-heat-light-the making of something new-

-exploding supernovas-a city burning that turned to sparks until-just one light-one lost light so far away//

Not for the here and the now either, but something to ponder for later. They did not have the strength to deal with whatever vision permeated the dull gold claw. 

Thankfully, there was little left. As optics swept across the last few pieces, they almost overlooked the smallest and most unassuming trophy gathered from battle. A tiny piece of mesh-patch lay by the wall. Perhaps, it hadn't been meant to be grabbed at all. Perhaps it had only stuck to something else and fallen off. Viewfinder frowned severely at it. There was no blood or stains. An unused bit of mesh should not hold anything useful. 

But when he drew near, it too held a presence. And unlike the claw, it was dark instead of light.

His frown deepened. They were tired now. There were only so many visions they could handle at one time. And their minds were already frayed at the edges from their carelessness before. Spectro and Spyglass stepped over to peer down at the innocent scrap as well. The former crouched before sitting. With a deep sigh, the other two did as well. 

Whatever this was, they would need to be seated. 

Viewfinder reached out to touch it slowly. Unlike the other visions, this one did not try to rush through them as floodwaters did a leaking damn, desperate to escape. It huddled quietly within the mesh and seemed to cloak it, cloyed, thick and slow. They did not like this presence. Not at all.

The barest brush of digits against the object opened the vision, sweeping darkness across their minds. 

//-a battlefield of broken bodies and red light became reality. Acrid smoke and charred metal stung their sensors, heat wafting up from below. The rusted ground had not even had time to cool yet. Corpses decorated the landscape like the bodies of insects killed en-mass. Empty optics stared upward at the sky as if their last hope had been for someone somewhere to save them. 

“Come on!” A strangled shout from beyond a pile of poles and rubble, what was once a building. “Keep fighting!”

The vision moved forward. Around the ruins and down, to a low point below field level and out of sight from snipers. A summoning circle glowed ominously in the center, cut straight into the rough terrain as if someone had stamped it. With hollow faces, the dead here remained as silent audience to one mech trying to save the life of another. 

“Just keep venting Drift!” Off to the side and beyond the circle, Ratchet was struggling to keep energon from leaking out of the hole in the smaller mech's chest. Frantic movements weren't fast enough to clamp the lines, he didn't have the tools to slow the lifeblood from spilling out to join their dead brethren, and could not stop what was fated to happen. 

The future was malleable, but all options and choices had been made. 

'He's going to die.' Reflector acknowledged solemnly. 

-static/static/static-

-The vision shifted, through time yet not place. Now the shaman was in the middle of the circle his dying patient lying on the ground in the  
center-center-center  
a hole, not in Drift's chest but Ratchet's  
ripped open all the way through with sparking wires and dripping metal but  
no spark  
muffled shouting far away as if through static and broken audios “What have you done?!”  
calm silence as the medic tilted his helm back and closed his optics  
and-

Darkness obscured their vision. Hunger swept over them, looking for weakness and hunting for prey. A hunger that gnawed at inner lines and spark casings. But Reflector was more careful this time and had their guard up. They simply drew themselves out of the vision-//

Simultaneously, the opened their optics to look down at the unassuming scrap. That had been unexpected. 

But they were finished now and had enough to please the manticore. Stiffly standing, Spectro and Spyglass stretched out their limbs as Viewfinder moved to open the door. Out in the hall, Sunstorm stood waiting. The golden mech nodded his helm is a short bow before the seer spoke. 

“The medic is the weak link.”  
.  
.  
.

Ratchet sighed as he sat down on one of the stools set up against the counter with jars of wires, soldering irons, and other electronic parts. There had been some soft music in the background when he walked in but Perceptor had turned it off. The mech never liked dividing his attention when conversing with others. 

“You look worn out.”

Normally, Ratchet grumbled the first part of their conversations, often complaining about unruly patients, gruffly admiring whatever Perceptor was working on, or chastising him for forgetting to drink his ration. Not so this time. He frowned at the tall lanky mech who had put down his texts to look at him.

“Was the medbay full today?” Perceptor asked mildly, “I did not hear of any incidents.”

Most of the mechs on the ark were thick-built, with very solid layers of armor and plating to protect them. It made them angular and sometimes blocky. But the scientist didn't look like them. His armor was thinner, more flexible and rounded in some areas. Intelligent but kind optics studied Ratchet as a second set of arms, smaller and hidden under the first, came out to rearrange the datapads and stylus out of the way. Tilting his helm, the teal and burgundy mech turned in his seat to face the medic fully. 

Ratchet shrugged. “No, it was quiet. Not like yesterday at all.” And that statement with it's cardboard gray monotone told Perceptor all he needed to know. 

As long as he had people to fix, people to save, or work to keep him occupied, Ratchet would push and fight and dig his feet in to keep going. And as soon as there was nothing left to keep working towards, he tripped up and stumbled as he looked for what to do next and found only vague answers. He could pull off miracles and push himself to his limits to save others.

But that strength disappeared when it came to himself. 

'We all have our flaws.' Perceptor thought, 'Some are just more damning than others.'

On the outside, the archivus stood and pulled beakers out of the cabinet. He started to mix a drink and fixed Ratchet with a hard stare. “And are you feeling-”

“Fine.” the medic snapped. “Fine. Just tired.”

“You know you can't be tired.” It hurt to say it, hurt to push at bleeding and open sores that would only scar more and more as time went by. But it was one of the only ways to keep Ratchet fighting. Perceptor found a spoon and started to stir the mixture he'd put together. It smelled sweet and tangy but somehow stinging. His faint and clipped accent grew stronger as his voice rose just a little. “You can't be tired. Don't you dare say that. Don't even think like that. You know you can't-”

“I know Percy.” Exhaustion crinkled the corners of his face but there was a flicker of annoyance in the white and red mech's optics. Annoyance was good. It was a tiny bit of fight which was always better than apathy. 

“Ratchet, you are far too stubborn to just give in.” He pushed just to be sure. “You and I both know that. Now, drink this, take a nap, and kick tomorrow's tailpipe.” Handing the obnoxiously green and yellow drink over, Perceptor smiled as the other mech chuckled lowly. There, success. 

“You're not going to let me be tired.” A side glance and the smile on Ratchet's face softened.

Perceptor huffed, “Never.”

“That's good.”

Smile fading out, the scientist glanced at his datapads once more and spoke solemnly. “I've found more time..... here on Earth with so few real battles, I've found more time to work on it.”

Sipping his drink slowly, Ratchet replied in a grumble. “You don't have access to the older libraries....”

“I copied as much as I could in the time I had. And I never found anything similar. At this point, I believe we will just have to start experimenting until we find a way. As I said, I've found more time to work on it now.”

“Hopefully, you'll figure something out.” Although his lips quirked upward, it was easy to see that he didn't truly believe answers could be found. 

Perceptor's voice hardened. “We will. I promise you we will figure it out.”

“I know.” Ratchet stood with creaking limbs and ambled the two steps closer to lean on the taller mech, just for a moment. Unfolding his smaller limbs, Percy wrapped all four arms around Ratchet in a gentle hug for a moment before the medic pulled away.

“Now,” Perceptor started, one finger pointed at Ratchet like he was scolding a child.

“Rest and kick tomorrow's aft. Got it.” With a small smirk, the medic winked at Perceptor and ambled out of the lab. A smile remained on the archivus' face until the door closed and Ratchet was out of sight. 

Expression darkening into determination, Perceptor stood and loomed over his desk, using all his servos to start pulling out datapads full of symbols, glyphs, and complicated spells. There was work to be done and a promise to be kept.

He could not fail Ratchet. He wouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “...and the nature of life and death are irrevocably altered." is quoted from Shockwave in MTMTE 27.
> 
> Seers/Sybil: Mystic. Optics are pale. Sometimes they go into a dream-state for visions, seeing alternate realities and scenes that might not make sense but give clues to what could occur soon or has already happened. They are not commonly sparked and pre-war, millenia could go by with no Seers at all.
> 
> Archivus: Mystic. Also called “living libraries”. Sometimes orbs that look like tiny galaxies float around the archivus and reach high places they can't. Archivus never forget anything and love to collect information. They have a smaller second set of arms that are usually kept folded up under the first.  
> The physical library of the Ark is Perceptor's. Even if Ultra Magnus wants to claim some parts of it too.
> 
> Ratchet: He is a shaman which is in the Mystic category of Cybertronians. Shamans have a natural ability of giving some of their own lifeforce to others, which is why many often become healers. They also have Sight, so glamours don't really work on them. While anyone can pick up rituals and bargaining with celestial and otherly beings, shamans have an affinity for it. They can help keep people's sparks in their bodies when they're too close to death but not ready to die by making deals with those beings (Jazz doesn't count). Shamans pick their own alternative modes and can change them whenever they like. They usually do not have a “true form” as many of the other types of Cybertronians do.
> 
> Someone asked about the Nephren (cassettes) in a previous chapter, so here's the details:
> 
> Nephren: are sometimes called "Veiled Ones" and not much is known about them. They're usually have either an elfin appearance or a beast shape, their armor overlaps a little like petals, and they disappear in and out of shadows. As far as anyone knows, they're impossible to catch and you can never tell when they're lurking about. And the rules of physics and logic.....don't really apply to them. Or they bend them on a regular basis. That's about as much as anyone except maybe Soundwave knows about Nephren.


	22. Geckos!

“....What stone are you made out of anyways?”

“An aluminium boron silicate with high levels of lithium known as Elbaite. Sometimes you humans call it watermelon tourmaline.” Wheeljack shifted slightly, the sunlight reflecting through the rough crystals growing out of and between nubby metal scales. Since he spent so much time bipedal and in his lab, Carly had never seen him in altmode before. She wasn't sure what she expected a crystal gecko to look like, since she'd been told he didn't look much like Cliffjumper, but it wasn't this. 

A silly looking triangular face blinked large and reflective pink optics at her, sprinkled with green at the edges. The colors were mimicked but darker in the crystals growing throughout his squat but thin body. Wings sheathed with a thin layer of flexible metal that seemed almost to small for him were folded up neatly on his back and nearly out of sight behind the crystal growths on his spine. Chubby little legs tipped with splayed feet and triangular padded toes honestly looked cute and not even the tiny claws on the tips seemed dangerous. If his stature was more regal, she supposed he could have been pretty, and he was in a way, but considering he looked like an enormous gecko.... Wheeljack just looked a little silly and if she was honest with herself, adorable. A skittish five year old wouldn't have thought he was scary.

“Hm. Aren't the seekers also made of crystal? They have tails and wings too, although your wings are much smaller. No offense.” The woman rubbed her face as she leaned back against a tree at the edge of the parking lot. It had been a long day and she was running out of topics to keep Wheeljack distracted.

“None taken. Vekna's wings are for gliding. And not all of us have them.....although I don't think Cliffjumper got the memo.”

A moment of silence as her face scrunched up while she went over some previous incidents. “That explains quite a few things.”

Wheeljack chuckled, tail swinging a little and continued. “As for seekers, yeah, they're crystal too. All the crystal dragons are actually a cousin species to vekna but you won't hear any of the dragons admitting that. Even if it's been scientifically proven.” 

“Wait, I thought you were all cousin species? Or subspecies. Prowl said subspecies.....”

“Well, yes. We're all Cybertronian. Some of our subspecies are just more closely related than others.”

“So if two different subspecies wanted to have a kid-sparkling, I mean..... ” Carly paused with a thoughtful frown as she realized she had been speaking out loud. The filter between her brain and her mouth disappeared sometimes when the more scientific part of her mind found something new to puzzle over. She looked over at Wheeljack with worried eyes. “Um, is this an okay topic? I'm not even sure if I want to get into this, now that I think about it.”

Another laugh. “It's alright! You're actually the first person to ask. I'm kinda surprised no one did it sooner.”

Carly smiled thinly, “Am I going to be grossed out and regret asking?”

“Nope. There's nothing gross, promise.” Wheeljack tried to cross his fingers like he'd seen humans do and failed, having forgotten he was in the wrong mode to do it. He settled for laying heavily on the pavement and crossing his front feet instead. The human snorted in amusement.

“You know you're only supposed to cross your fingers when making a promise when you intend to break that promise, right?”

“Oh.” With a startled look, the vekna quickly righted his crossed feet. He was still learning all the human customs and, to him at least, some seemed quite contradictory. 

Carly tried to gain control of her smile. It kept creeping across her face anyways. “So, Cybertronian young?”

“Right!” Visibly excited with a chance to play teacher, Wheeljack turned his full attention to her and jumped right in, “So if two of the same subspecies had a kid, then the newspark is of that subspecies. If the creators are two very different subspecies, the newspark is one or the other.”

“That makes sense. Offspring take after their creators.”

“Yep. The newspark actually imprints on one or both of the creator's spark. If the newspark, for say a medical emergency, had to be removed before it fully imprinted, then you would theoretically have a blank Cybertronian spark-” He paused, noticing the human's eyebrows knitting together in a way that frankly, looked quite uncomfortable. “But that's theoretical. For the sake of this conversation, newsparks take after one of the parents. But that's just with most Cybertronians. Wildling's are an exception. They're close enough as a subspecies to one another that newsparks actually tend to mix traits from both of their creators.”

“Like genetics.”

“Yes! Elementals are another exception. They come from- or are sparked from, their element. No one's really sure how exactly that works but there's quite a few theories.”

“So elementals can't actually create a newspark?”

“Well...... not really. Elemental newsparks usually just kinda.... show up? In their element. Or two regular elementals of the same kind or similar elements could create one but there's never been a ton of elementals to begin with so it's pretty rare.” Musing crept into his tone, Wheeljack's mind going off on tangents and possibilities until Carly pulled him back. 

“And what about an elemental with another subspecies?”

Even though his face didn't move the right way to properly express what Carly guessed was a grimace, Wheeljack managed to pull off the expression with a low rumble. “If they want a newspark, as far as I've heard, the non-elemental partner creates a newspark from part of their own spark but the newspark always takes after that one creator, of course-”

“You don't need two partners to create a newspark?!” The woman rubbed her temples, trying to keep all the information together. If one individual could create offspring, did this mean the Cybertronians were more like plants than they were like humans? That didn't match with what little Cybertronian biology she knew.

“Yep. And there's also Vector Sigma if someone didn't want to carry the newspark themselves, but you never really know what kind of newspark you'd get if you did that.....um” Ending his rambling, the vekna noticed her confused expression that was going down the road to completely lost. “You know, this is actually pretty complicated. Maybe we should continue the conversation later, when I have a datapad to draw things on.”

“That might be best.” Carly sighed and straightened. Plopping down next to his front leg, she made herself as comfortable as she could and closed her eyes. Having gone through everything from latest base gossip to some of the finer points of making a paralyzing gun, the pair had talked for nearly two hours now and she was, quite frankly, out of things to distract him with. At the very least, Prowl should have gotten here by now or sent one of the others. 

Fidgeting in boredom, Wheeljack tried not to jostle his small companion,“......Any idea how much longer we have to stay here?”

“Until the police decide you're not a threat to society.” Came the prompt response, as the pair watched the flashing lights and law enforcements take statements from bystanders. The partially wrecked pet store behind them looked highly incriminating. “Just be yourself, because normally honey, you're really not intimidating. And they'll see me and go 'oh, he's letting a tired human lean on him. He's really not that scary.' And hopefully they'll let you go in another hour or so.”

“And if they don't?”

A sigh. “Prowl's taking too long. I'll call Optimus for backup. He'll just charm them until they agree with whatever he says and we can all go home.”

“Not Bluestreak? He's a lot better at harmless and charming, you know.”

“Do you see the puppies in there?” She pointed at the temporary pen made of empty boxes, wooden crates, a cooler, and some chicken wire that had been set up for the energized canines. One particular labrador puppy kept finding small holes out of it. “If he doesn't have a freak out like you did then he'll try adopting them.”

The laughter that rumbled through Wheeljack vibrated the scales she leaned on. “You're seriously underestimating Prime's ability to absolutely fold when it comes to cute things.”

“He's too responsible to try adopting all the animals in the pet store.” She huffed stubbornly.

“Says you.”

“And his altmode is a truck. Not a dog or cat or horse or fragging porcupine.” Continuing as if she hadn't heard him, Carly pulled strands of blonde hair out of her face. “We're just lucky it was you here and not Cliffjumper. That would have been even more of a mess.”

Tilting his head, Wheeljack puzzled over the new word. He nudged the top of the woman's head with his snout, “What's a porcupine?”

“It's.....spiky.”

“And whose altmode looks like that?” Wheeljack mentally going over what the crew looked like. He supposed Red Alert sometimes looked a little spiky during storms.

“No one. I was being sarcastic. Point is, there aren't any small animals 'in need of rescue',” Carly made air quotes, “that look like Prime's altmode. Because it's a truck.” She emphasized with hand waving.

Silence for a moment before the mech lay his head down on the cracked parking lot pavement and blinked sad glittery pink optics at her. “I said I was sorry.” Said optics shifted to look at one of the policemen helping a worker catch and put escaped geckos into an empty fish tank. “Are you sure they're not sentient-”

“They're not, honey. I've heard they're very clever and have a lot of energy, but they're not sentient.” Patting his hide gently, she sighed. They'd been over this several times now and kept coming back to the same topic. Grasping for straws, she tried to think of something that would convince him that a repeat of the pet store rescue was a bad idea. “You also can't let them loose into the wild because one, they've never been in the wild and wouldn't know how to survive, and two, this isn't their natural habitat.”

“Oh.” His tail curled up and around to flop over his optics. It had not been a good day for Wheeljack. He scrunched up, carefully so he didn't shift Carly too much from her position, but did make himself smaller. The obvious misery coming off him made several police officers look over in confusion and suspicion. One made gestures at Carly to see if she needed any help. She shook her head and gently patted the upset Cybertronian again. 

“Keep looking like that and we'll get out of here sooner rather than later. And I am sorry dear.”

The unhappy warbles that answered her just sped up the law enforcements letting them go. Although it didn't end there. 

.  
.  
.

“No no no..... yes... There you go!” Wheeljack cheered quietly, so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't notice the pings from the door chime or the door even opening when the person trying to get in decided they'd waited long enough. 

Blaster poked his helm in, and seeing the mech he was looking for hunched over the counter, smiled fondly. It figured the mech was caught up in some project. “Hey, mah mech! What's kicking?”

He expected the engineer to be excited with a chance to show off his latest project. What he was not expecting was for Wheeljack to jump a mile and nearly crack his helm on the hanging lamps above his work station. Whirling around in a panic, the vekna quickly shoved something under a pile of wire and used his body to block Blaster's view as he leaned one elbow on the table. Helm lights blinking fitfully, Wheeljack's voice cracked in nervousness.

“Hey! Nice to see you here! What's going on?”

Blaster just looked at him, one optic ridge slowly rising as he fought the smirk crossing his face and lost. The engineer's bicolored optics flickered around as if looking for an exit or more unexpected people. “Ah........”

“I can see why you were never picked for special ops.” The cassette player strutted over to the table and used his height to try and peer over Wheeljack's shoulder.

An insulted huff answered him. “Wow, rude.”

“I'm a messenger for Red today, grabbin' those new whatchamacallits for the systems.” The smirk grew wider when Wheeljack visibly puffed up at Blaster's words and straightened just a bit. His winglets twitched and pointed upward. 

“Those whatchamacallits have a name. The force field generators,” Wheeljack stressed with a servo pointing to another cluttered table, “are right there. They're ready for you to take to Red Alert now.” He not so subtly dismissed the other mech. 

Blaster made a show of looking over at all the half-finished projects, random gizmos and technological marvels. He could've picked out which ones were the generators, considering they were one of the few finished things and they were set all by themselves on a cleaner part of the work bench, but he was enjoying messing with the engineer far too much. “Which ones are they? You got a lotta fun toys mah mech.”

“...The square ones, that pile right there in the middle with the red buttons on the side.” Wheeljack shifted back a little as the taller mech took another step closer. At this point, the vekna was starting to bend over backwards against the table to keep the thing hidden. 

“Can you show me?” Smiling fit to split his face, Blaster continued, “I don't wanna take something likely to blow us to kingdom come. Prowl would kick us all there himself if I did!”

Wheeljack did not want to show him. That would mean moving away from what he was hiding and giving the taller mech an opportunity. Nervous optics flickered around again. After a moment of silence, “...........no.”

“Come oooooon mech,” Blaster jibed, “You're hurting my feeling's here.”

Shifting nervously, the engineer clapped his servos together as he thought of a good excuse, “What if I said it was classified?”

“If you'd started with that, I mighta believed that hook, line and sinker. It's a little late now.” When all Wheeljack did was cover his face in defeat, the red and orange mech backed off a step, “Come on, I promise I won't tell a soul. No one's getting any secrets or transmissions outta this mech right here.”

“You'll tell Jazz.” A flat accusation.

Blaster denied it. “I won't say a thing! Jazz might find out by himself because he's Jazz but he ain't getting it from me!”

With a heavy sigh, Wheeljack turned and pulled something from under the wire pile. Immediately crowding close, Blaster was surprised to see a large translucent and rectangular container of either thick plastic or some sort of glass. It reflected the soft blue lighting right into his optics until he crouched to look at a better angle while the vekna started to explain. 

“So, you know about the pet store incident....?” 

Blaster chuckled as he studied the rocks, branches and green vegetation inside what was obviously a kind of enclosure. “Mech, it was the hottest things this side of the Atlantic. Everybody heard about that!” Inside the container, a large flower suddenly shifted. He tilted his helm curiously.

“Right,” Wheeljack grumbled unenthusiastically, “Well, I didn't notice at the time. But this little one had crawled up between some of my larger scales and stayed there. Didn't find her until I was back in base and she was really lucky I noticed her before I transformed. That would have been bad-”

The flower shifted again, yellow petals shaking as a small green lizard with blue and red speckles popped her head out from her hiding place. Round green and black eyes looked around as Blaster made a soft 'oh' sound. 

“-and I didn't want to take her back, because I'm pretty sure the pet store people hate me and think I'm out to steal all the pets. Which I'm NOT. But I can't let her go either because she wouldn't survive in the wild, so I don't know what to do-”

“Wheeljack.” Blaster interrupted the stream of explanations with amusement, “What did you name her?”

The mech shrugged and scratched the back of his helm in embarrassment, “Daffodil. She likes to hide in them.”

“She's cute.”

“Yeah.” He picked another flower from a vase off to the side and carefully placed the bloom in the enclosure. Daffodil hid back the first flower until Wheeljack stopped moving, leaving his servo flat and still on the bottom. “I taught her to eat the bugs I've been getting for her. She wasn't eating them at first.”

The gecko's head popped back out again. After a few seconds she zipped forward, over Wheeljack's unmoving palm and around the new bloom before darting inside. The petals shuddered. Wheeljack pulled his hand back out and closed the lid. 

“Well mech,” Blaster whistled quietly, “I don't know what to tell you. Can't really help you with your problem there, but I swear I won't tell anyone else. And really, she's as cute as a button.”

“Thank you.”

They watched the gecko zip around for another moment before the red mech added, “I really do gotta be moseying along with those whatcha- the force field generators.”

“On the table Blaster.” Wheeljack gave him a look. “I'm pretty sure you know which ones they are.”

Laughing, Blaster picked up the small devices and headed for the door, “Yeah, yeah. Good luck mech! See you out and about!” Wheeljack waved as the communications mech left. 

True to his word, Blaster didn't say a thing to anyone, not even Jazz, about Daffodil. Unfortunately, he didn't need to. Jazz noticed Blaster coming out of the labs a few times more than normal looking smug and that was enough enough to pique his curiosity. 

Of course Jazz told the other special ops mechs. They liked to keep secrets to themselves and it never left their little corner of the base. But the Twins also noticed something was up with Blaster. And considering their penchant for “borrowing” new toys from Wheeljack, they assumed it was something really fun that hadn't been quite perfected yet. That was okay! Taking new weapons out onto battlefields was how one gets field results. Wheeljack hadn't minded too much in the past when they'd borrowed the more mundane weapons. (More dangerous ones were another story. But Wheeljack just couldn't reach Ratchet or Prime's levels when it came to lectures.)

They were not expecting a gecko. Sunstreaker shrugged it away but Sideswipe loved gossip too much to keep it to himself. He told Smokescreen and Trailbreaker, making them swear not to tell. Trailbreaker meant to keep his word but stated it bluntly to a few other mechs not two nights later when he was wasted drunk, completely forgetting that he had broken his promise by the morning. And these few other mechs muttered it to a few more, all amused by Wheeljack's new friend and excited to be in on a secret to keep from the officers. 

Of course, the officers weren't exactly out of the loop like some people liked to think. And these officers may have turned a deaf audio or blind optic because they thought the little lizard was cute too and really, what was the harm?

By the end of the week, almost everyone on base knew. Even the humans. Not that Wheeljack was aware of any of that. He thought he was doing a pretty good job of keeping Daffodil a secret and didn't have the faintest idea that some mechs were sneaking into his lab when he was out to get a look at the gecko. So he was very surprised and dismayed nearly three weeks later when Red Alert stormed in and demanded he get rid of her.

“You know the rules!” Red growled. Although they were practically the same height, the raiju had somehow perfected the ability to tower over people his size or even taller. “No pets! No organic wildlife! None!”

No one had told Red about the gecko. And while this wasn't the first time most of the base had worked hard to keep something from the security director, it wasn't often they were able to get away with it. Three weeks wasn't their highest record but it was close. Eventually, someone hadn't managed to keep their voice quiet enough and the mech had heard part of a conversation. Enough to make him suspicious. Listening in and keeping a sharper optic on people had led him to stomping into the lab when Wheeljack wasn't expecting it. There hadn't been time to hide her. 

“But Red-”

“Don't 'But Red Alert' me!” The officer cut him off as Optimus stepped into the lab behind them. Prime had seen the mech heading in Wheeljack's direction with lighting flickering above his helm and guessed at what was going on. 

“She's not a security threat!” Wheeljack insisted frantically with twitchy hand gestures and flashing audios, “She stays in her enclosure and I'm taking good care of her. She barely takes up any space!”

“That is not the point!” 

Optimus laid a heavy servo on the security mech's shoulder, “There is no need to raise your voice Red Alert.” His calm and steady rumble didn't seem to effect the agitated mech at all. Inside the container, Daffodil skittered nervously under a rock at all the loud noise. Usually when Wheeljack was going to be working on something noisy, he moved the enclosure to the back of the lab with soundproof movable walls.

“Sir!” With servos on his hips, Red made a valid point, “If we let one mech keep a pet, then someone else is going to insist that they should be allowed to have one too. And Hound! You know how often I have to remind him he can't bring organic pets on base! It would be completely hypocritical to let Wheeljack keep that thing after all the times we've had to tell Hound 'no'.”

For that, Wheeljack didn't actually have a defense. Wings titling down, he slumped and looked at Daffodil sadly. Optimus hummed noncommittally and moved over to get a closer look at the enclosure. 

This was not the first time he had seen Daffodil, (although he wasn't going to admit that), and when he knelt down to get a better look, he was pleased to see the little critter come out and climb onto the glass walls briefly before moving to rest up on a tree branch and chirp at the mechs. The container was bigger than the first one she'd been in and a little larger than the ones normally used in zoos. But it really wasn't very big for the bots. Optimus could easily lift it with one servo. 

And as much as he thought Wheeljack was doing a very good job of taking care of Daffodil, he couldn't fault Red Alert's argument. 

“Ahem.” A stuttered cough came from behind them. The trio turned to see Perceptor in his half of the lab, sitting by a counter full of rocks. He'd been examining the specimens Beachcomber had brought in when Red had burst into the lab. “Your argument is against keeping a pet on base, which I do agree with.” Perceptor smiled nervously, “However, your assumption that the gecko is a pet is incorrect. She is in fact, an observational study.”

Three silent stares. That was news to the rest of them. 

Red suddenly came to a realization and pointed at Perceptor.“You knew!”

Of course he knew. Half the lab was his after all and Wheeljack obviously had the gecko out while Perceptor was in there. People just didn't put 'rule-breaker' and 'Perceptor' in the same sentence, let alone thought. And Red Alert hadn't thought about until he actually saw Perceptor. “What do you mean study?! Did you clear this with Prowl?” 

“What kind of observational study?” Optimus added on. 

“It has not been cleared with Prowl,” Perceptor admitted before Wheeljack could say anything. He continued on without letting anyone else get a word in, “It was however, cleared with Ratchet because it is an observational study on the infraorder Gekkato and how their biology works. We were hoping that it would prove useful, seeing as their body structure is similar to some types of veknas. Obviously, it is not as complicated as a Cybertronians but it could still be helpful.”

Prowl would deny he knew anything about the gecko, if he did and none of them were sure whether he knew or not. Ratchet was not a fan of organic nuisances on base but he most certainly had heard about it at this point and would agree, 'yeah, sure, they cleared it with me', just to keep Wheeljack happy and because he owed Percy more favors than he liked to admit to. 

“And what did you find?” Crossing his arms, Red leveled Perceptor a dark look. He knew this new excuse was being pulled out of thin air and just had to prove it. 

Perceptor smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth rising in a brittle line like sheet metal being bent out of it's preferred shape, “Not very much so far. The observation is in the beginning stages and we wanted a solid thesis to show to Prowl.” Colored lights flickered into existence behind the scientist and rose upward, lifting datapads off a high shelf. “We do have basic findings matching those that the humans have so far if you would like to read-”

“No. No, thank you.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, the security director growled lowly. One of his feet tapped against the scarred lab floor in agitation. “You did not follow procedure though.”

Optimus chided the scientists gently, “Do try to remember to bring new projects to the attention of the officers in the future. As much as I trust you, I would really like to know ahead of time before there is something dangerous in the lab.”

He was given a gimlet stare by Red, followed by a sigh of defeat. The raiju realized he'd been played and he didn't have the time or energy to try and win this fight. Without another word, he turned sharply and stalked out of the lab. Optimus tilted his helm at the pair after the doors closed. 

Shifting nervously, Wheeljack muttered, “It was an accident. I didn't mean to bring her on base.”

He ignored the huff and exasperated helm shake from Perceptor that he could see out of the corner of his vision. Optimus merely crinkled his optics and looked at Daffodil. “I can believe that. Just.... try not to bring anything else into the labs. Hound will get jealous.”

A chorus of 'Yes sir's answered him as he clapped Wheeljack on the shoulder and left as well, once again following Red Alert in the hopes of soothing him before the mech lost his temper. A moment of relieved silence reigned before Beachcomber jumped down lightly from the ceiling beams where he'd been hiding. 

Wheeljack startled, forgetting that he had been there. Everyone forgot the tall mini was practically a ninja. 

“So,” the naga drawled, “Suppose we shouldn't tell them about the sea urchin in the back?”

Hysterical giggles burst out of Wheeljack, relief sweeping through him, as he moved to give Daffodil extra bugs. Perceptor merely turned a cool gaze back to the specimens they had been examining and picked up a datapad.

“No. Let's not.”


	23. Ratchet's Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm rating this chapter M because of mild gore and briefly implied character death. 
> 
> Also, someone asked about Alpha Trion. He's on Cybertron and is a sybil or seer, like Reflector. He's probably filling up his library with records of visions, alternate dimensions and future possibilities. Some days, he forgets the Autobots have mostly left. Other days he thinks they're already back on Cybertron.

Lets say there was a battle, in a rundown part of a city with broken bottles, crumbled pavement and graffiti striping the buildings around them. Lets say it started small with a wounded scout group, so the rest of the Autobots came, along with their medic to fix the injured. Lets say that was the Decepticon's plan all along. 

Because it was. 

The humans had long since scattered, having learned quickly not to stick around if Decepticons were about. Not that the Cons usually cared if the humans were there but sometimes someone was bored and chasing small harmless aliens was amusing. Megatron and most of his forces lay waiting, behind empty warehouses and large machinery. Tails twitched, guns hummed at the ready, and teeth were bared but they remained silent. One had to stay quiet on the hunt after all. Only the seekers shrieked and chimed at each other in the air above, mock diving at the scout group huddled up under an overpass. When the dragons came too close, a few shots were fired but none were even close to hitting their targets. 

Starscream dived, sweeping under the bridge and knocking abandoned vehicles out of his way, coming out the other side before the Autobots even had a chance to react. He was taunting them and they knew it. 

/Don't give the plan away!/ Megatron snarled through the comms. His servos flexed, canon whirling quietly as he remained hidden in the shadows of human machinery. Red glowing optics narrowed into slits. /If they realize you're not really trying to kill them, they'll figure out it's a trap!/

/I can kill at least one of them, though./ Starscream drolled, ignoring his leader's reprimands. /We only need one or two of them alive and there's three./

/Skywarp!/ 

Megatron yelled over the comms, distracted by the dark seeker trying to copy his trine leader's stunt by diving under the bridge. The Autobots were ready this time, however, and Skywarp howled as one lunged out at him before drawing back into the smaller spaces between the beams where the dragons couldn't reach. 

Teleporting up to where Thundercracker was circling, Skywarp held his left forearm close to his chest and whined. /The red angry one bit me!/

/The 'I'm gonna fight everyone' guy?/ Mutters started over the comms. No one could actually remember the minibot's name though.

Frenzy chimed in. /Isn't that the vekna?/ 

/I'm killing that one./ Starscream stated with finality. /The others can live. For now./

Resisting the urge to strangle his Air Commander, Megatron grit his teeth. /If you idiots mess up this plan- It's simple! Just keep them cornered!/

/It's too simple. We should have come up with a backup plan./ Snapped Starscream. He landed above the overpass and scaled down the wall slowly, making sure the hiding mechs could hear his claws digging harshly into the concrete and mortar. 

/We are not arguing this again! Focus!/ Megatron nearly shouted it aloud but clamped his teeth down at the last second. It was a Pit-damned miracle he hadn't killed Starscream yet. Glitchy seeker was just too good at his job when he actually felt like doing it.......

Thankfully, that was when the rest of the Autobots showed up. The moment Megatron deemed them close enough, he charged out, his army right behind. With only seconds to recognize what was happening, the Autobots reacted fairly well to the new threat and met their enemies head on. 

Resounding battle cries and shouts created a terrible din when mixed with blaster fire, shrieks, and roars. Megatron immediately engaged Optimus, as the rest of the Decepticons quickly picked a particular Autobot to keep occupied. Bots who normally found themselves on the back end of the battlefield laying down cover fire suddenly had opponents far too close for comfort and having a go at them. Chaos erupted as Prowl rapidly tried to shift people's positions and found himself unable, as everyone had someone blocking their way. And Soundwave's shots at his helm kept him distracted. 

Smoke and the stench of burnt metal wafted across the battlefield. Behind the others, Ratchet swore. A roiling mass of bodies stood between him and the possibly injured scouts. Barely pausing as he transformed from ambulance to root mode, the medic took off running towards the overpass.

Brawn kept to his right, but was soon swept into the brawl between Hound and the Insecticons, as Hound's tail accidentally knocked the basilisk's feet out from under him and away from Ratchet. Sunstreaker quickly jumped over to Ratchet's empty side so the Twins were on either side of the medic.

Normally, they were on the front lines, not guarding. But the objective had been rescue of the scout group. They had to get Ratchet across to the others as safely as they could. 

The three quickly backtracked as Blitzwing slammed Ironhide into the pavement before them. Buckling into a small impact zone, the ground cracked at the force. Leaping into it, Inferno grabbed Blitzwing and increased his temperature until the Decepticon writhed and screamed, scrambling away from the heat. Ducking from shots overhead, the Twins and Ratchet dodged around Springer to their left and lunged forward through the now empty space. 

Mixmaster, close enough to grab them as they ran past, looked at them and turned away. Odd. 

A building somewhere behind them gave out a broken moan, creaks and grumbles giving way to shuddering ground as it collapsed. Megatron roared. With growing tension, Sideswipe shoved Onslaught out of the way as they pushed past him, knocking the surprised mech into one of the others.

Ratchet stumbled over discarded human vehicles as the trio ran behind a warehouse for temporary cover. This was taking dangerously long. For every five lengths forward, they had to take two back just to avoid getting dragged into a fight. He could see the beams of the bridge now though. Cliffjumper's distinctive red gave him away near the base of them. But where were Smokescreen and Arcee? With a deep vent to center himself, the medic signaled his guards and bolted forward.

 

“Duck!” Sunstreaker pulled him down as the seekers dived. 

Claws slashed only centimeters above their helms as they crouched on the ground, Starscream jackknifing upwards and then dropping down towards Sideswipe. The frontliner barely moved fast enough to avoid getting landed on by a few thousand pounds of sharp and deadly crystal.

Before Starscream had even landed, Ratchet was up and running again. There wasn't time to stop. Only two steps and Thundercracker crashed into Sunstreaker, taking them both back into the madness. 

Ratchet didn't stop. 

The overpass was right there. So close. So close. 

As he lunged over rubble and behind Astrotrain, the chimera started to turn. Hard red optics locked on his for a second and turned away like he hadn't seen him at all. 

Once was odd. Twice was wrong. The Decepticons were ignoring him. 

'Something's wrong. Something's wrong. Something's wrong.' His internal voice chanted in increasing panic. Ratchet stopped, freezing in place as he turned around to search the battlefield, to figure out the trick before someone died. 

A few seconds pause was all it took. Numbness blasted through his chest, quickly chased by scalding agony. He couldn't even draw in a breath. 

Someone else screamed for him. 

“NononoNO! RATCHET!” Silence descended on the pained wings of Wheeljack's cry. Optics and bodies turned, just in time to witness the medic stumble. Swaying where he stood, one shaking servo reached up to his dripping chest as Ratchet looked down. A massive gaping hole had opened in his middle, empty and cold where his spark should have been. Internal working clicked and shuddered, exposed to the open air in shorn wires and sparking lines. Blood, torn cables, and armor bits splattered the ground in front of him, puzzle pieces far too small to be welded back together. 

He tasted blood in his mouth. Funny how energon always tasted different coming back up instead of going in. A distant whine buzzed in his audios, growing fainter as his optics glitched.

Crouched above on his perch, Vortex reloaded his smoking gun. The click-clack was deafening. 

Ratchet started to tip, optics flickering out. 

Rushing forward, the Autobots yelled and screamed denials. Not Ratchet. Not him. One voice differed from the others. Perceptor's voice, too soft for a battlefield, rose and cracked, “NO! Get back! GET BACK!”

The Decepticons bolted away from the fighting immediately. As the bots ran towards him, the medic wavered again and this time, fell. White plating stained pink, color deepening as it swept across his armor in rampant waves. Perceptor's shriek finally reached a pitch high enough to be heard. 

“GET BACK NOW!”

Some slowed, battle instincts kicking in at the order. Others didn't hear it at all. Wheeljack was the first one to make it to Ratchet's side, just as the mech hit the ground. Even as he tried to pick him up, previously white armor darkened even further to a rust-colored red. Other parts shifted into black. Plating stretched, splitting open like bloody flowers and lengthening. Limbs extended, growing too long, too quickly. 

Wheeljack leaned back warily, “Ratch-..... Ratchet?”

“WHEELJACK, GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Perceptor shrilled, shoving others out of the way and repeating loudly, “Don't get too close!”

Finally hearing the mech, Wheeljack let go of his friend's body and scrambled away. He fell over on his aft before managing to stand and run back towards the others. The thing that had been Ratchet though, kept rapidly growing until it reached roughly the size of a supreme. 

It lay still for only a second, as dead silence choked their intakes. And then the demon raised it's head. 

One servo with extraordinarily long clawed fingers dug into the ground as it pulled itself up. Rising onto it's thin canine hind legs, the thing straightened. Long arms hung down, almost scraping against the broken concrete as it turned it's face, or what could be considered a face towards them. A rounded stretch of muzzle that was too short and too conical to even be consided one was blank, without any features like eyes or even a mouth. Grooves ran across and around the metal. They deepened along it's back and sides where rusted and flaking armor split open to glistening cables, slick with blood. The cables and armor around it's chest crumpled more so than the other plates, broken around a massive empty hole that tore all the way through to it's back. Worst of all, atop it's helm and along it's spinal struts, black and white visual glitches appeared, warping the air. 

It stared at their dumbstruck expression, and then swiftly turned to lunge at the Coneheads, hovering closer than the other mechs. As the creature scrambled, climbing up a building and bringing it's roof down, the end of it's muzzle opened four ways and bit at the Cons that rose higher and out of reach. A cry full of broken television static shrieked from it's vocals. 

As the rest of his people flew or ran away, Megatron hovered above the battlefield. He laughed victoriously, “Have fun fighting your medic Prime. If you don't kill him, he'll kill you.” 

The plan hadn't been to kill the Autobots. It had been for one Autobot to kill all the others. 

With that last mocking call, the manticore flew off. The demon continued climbing the buildings and cried out again, not seeming to realize the structures wouldn't hold it's weight as feet and limbs broke through rooftops, raining debris down. 

Stunned optics turned to the frozen figure of Jazz. Even Optimus looked to him with a silent plea, as if saying 'Fix this.' Jazz, however, was still reeling from all that had just happened. His servos clenched and un-clenched as he scrambled to think of a plan that didn't end up with their medic dead. And even as he took a small step forward, a hiss made him falter. 

“Don't you dare.” No one had ever seen Perceptor so livid, couldn't even remember seeing the archivist lose his temper. Yet now, he'd straightened his tall stature and glared down at Jazz with hard bitter optics. The mechs around him inched back. His polished accent thickened, “Don't you dare do that to Ratchet.”

If Jazz stepped in, he would have to get rid of the demon. And that meant destroying the body, Ratchet's body. But doing so would kill the mech and the demon would have his spark. Jazz did not want to do this today, any day, or ever. The Gatekeeper was not ready to kill his friend. Although he may not be given a choice. As the demon realized it had closer prey that was not running away, it turned around and started to climb out of the wreckage it had made of the warehouses and factories. Many of them flinched at it's horrid cry. 

“You gotta plan?” Jazz spoke softly, visor still turned toward the approaching monster. 

Perceptor said nothing and looked away. “Ratchet would never harm us.”

The black and white whirled, anger finally making it's way across his features. The visor on his face was creeping from crystalline blue to a washed-out white. “That ain't Ratchet! That, THING, will kill yah Perce. An' I won't be able tah save yer spark if it eat's yah!”

“Ratchet.....” Bluestreak whined, voice cracking and barely above a whisper as he watched the massive demon with a hollow expression. The canid was not the only one still in shock. Half the force stayed cemented to their places, expressions lost and scared. Wheeljack's legs had not been able to hold him up and at some point he'd slumped down on the ground, sitting even as what had been his best friend tried to move towards them. Prowl's doorwings shivered in a sharp splayed 'V' on his back. Calculations ran through his mind furiously but he didn't have enough data, enough knowledge of the situation to figure out a solution. Meanwhile the Twins' optics flickered, talking over their bond rapidly. 

“I'll be fine.” Perceptor lied, turning away from Jazz. He walked to the oncoming demon. It had finally freed it's limbs from the ruins it had made and started to bound towards them with an odd loping gait. Two long steps forward, one partially sideways as if it expected them to start running at any moment. Optimus straightened, unwilling to risk anymore of his people. His final word on the matter gave Perceptor pause.

“No. You are not going near it. ”

The scientist glanced back. He'd never ignored a direct order before. Making it very clear that nothing short of someone bodily removing him from the city would stop him, Perceptor stated shortly, “I am afraid I am, sir.”

And as he continued, Sideswipe fell into step on left, Sunstreaker on his right. One optic ridge rose as the red mech spoke, “Will us being with you help or make things worse?”

Thinking it over as they strode towards the oncoming monstrosity, Perceptor quickly outlined a plan, “No. It could help. We have to make him angry, Ratchet, not the demon. Despair will give it more of a hold, but if Ratchet is angry, he will fight it.”

Some of the others, Optimus included, made a move to join them but Jazz held out a servo to hold the big mech back and barked out an order, “All of you stay were you are!” 

“Jazz!” Startled, Optimus tried to push the mech's arm out of his way but Gatekeepers had a strength that even a Prime couldn't move. 

He held his ground. Jazz wanted to kill the demon. He wanted to save Ratchet. He wanted to pull Perceptor and the Twins back to safety. But if anyone had a chance at bringing their medic back, it was Percy and Jazz was unwilling to risk any of the others being in the line of fire. He would not let that demon, any demon, get ahold of a Prime's spark. “Let Percy try, boss. You can't go out there.”

A sharp tilt in his visor showed just how serious he was about that. Engine rumbling in disagreement, Optimus could only watch as the thing got close enough to take a swipe at them with it's elongated claws. 

The three quickly jumped back out of the way as Perceptor yelled. “RATCHET! You stop that right now!”

“Would reminding Ratchet of all the times we pissed him off help?” Sideswipe called as he dodged out of the way of a servo slamming down where he had been.

“No, it needs to be more serious than that!” He managed to get out. 

Another swipe, and this time it's claws managed to catch Sunstreaker, ripping through his armor in several places. The golden mech collapsed and dragged himself backwards, rolling just out of the way as the demon opened it's muzzle and tried to bite at him. Sideswipe lunged at it's side, digging a sword into it's rusted and bloody hide as Perceptor screamed in panic. 

“You won't kill the Twins!” A quick intake as the thing paused for a few seconds before trying to shake off the clinging frontliner, “You won't kill me! You won't kill the Autobots! You've spent far too much time saving us from Decepticons and stupidity and everything else just to kill us yourself!”

Now it did actually pause, flanks and chest heaving while Prowl quietly ordered the mechs to prepare to give cover fire if necessary in the background. It turned it's helm down to the tall lanky scientist who stood his ground and opened it's maw again. Chainsaw teeth buzzed and growled within it's mouth. The musty scent of abandoned places and stale energon was enough to make anyone gag but he ignored it as best he could. Perceptor didn't know where to look, as it had no optics, but glared up at the center of it's face as it hovered over him. The demon appeared only seconds from devouring him. Sideswipe pulled his blade out, clinging to an armor plate and drew his sword back but waited, as the demon waited, for Perceptor. Straightening, the scientist donned the most disgusted and offended face he could muster with fear rattling his armor like tin cans in a windstorm. His voice rose into a shriek.

“How SLAGGING dare you Ratchet!” A slim delicate servo jabbed at Sunstreaker tenaciously trying to pull himself up with blood flowing out of him in rivers. 

“How DARE you hurt Sunstreaker! You call yourself a medic when you hurt them?! I respect you but I never took you for a COWARD! A hypocrite at times and occasionally a liar, but never a coward! Why aren't you fixing him?!

Ratchet, or the part of the thing that was Ratchet, stirred as he realized he was being trash-talked. By Perceptor no less. As Ratchet's mind started to gain awareness, he tried to wrestle control away from the malevolent hunger using his body. The demon shook, claws slammed into the ground, a pained cry making it's way out as it twitched and snapped at the empty air. Perceptor could see Ratchet was fighting for control. Confidence emboldened his tone and his stance. The archivist pulled out his smaller secondary limbs and crossed them, his larger arms planted on his hip plates in the very picture of frazzled annoyance. Sideswipe jumped off the flailing beast. He ran to Sunstreaker, pulling him back out of the way. 

“Are you going to give up now Ratchet?! After all you've done you're just going to give up on us, the Twins and Wheeljack and all of us! I never thought I'd see the day you would be so cowardly to let that happen. Fight, damn you!”

Miffed, Ratchet gained enough control to pull his body back a step. He was fighting! And doing the best he could, thank you very much!

Sometime in all this, Wheeljack had ignored Jazz's orders and ran over. He skidded to a halt next to Perceptor, startling the mech. “Come on Ratchet! You can do it!”

The demon shook and wailed, collapsing onto it's front. One back legs kicked out, digging a furrow into the concrete. The visual glitches distorting it's form flickered madly, starting to fade out. Ratchet internally snarled at the abyssal hunger and kept pushing, taking over more and more control in waves of pure stubbornness and justified rage. No one kept him from fixing the Autobots. And no one made him hurt the people he cared about. 

On the outside, the body started to shrink. Black and rusted armor shifted, melding into whole plating and lightening in color. Limbs retreated to their normal length as the body turned back to white and red scratched but whole plating. His helm shifted to it's natural shape. In the space of Ratchet's chest, mechs could see the emptiness where the spark should have been before armor grew over the hole, fixing the damage from earlier.

That was the day Perceptor, one of the quietest and most overlooked Autobots of the Ark, brought a monster to it's knees. And saved his friend. 

Ratchet knelt on the broken ground, coughing once before purging his tanks. While Wheeljack and Perceptor crowded close to help him up, the other Autobots put away their weapons and raced forward. Chatter immediately surrounded them, servos reaching out to touch his frame, help him up and asking a million questions at once until Ratchet yelled, “Move you imbeciles! Sunstreaker's bleeding and you're standing in my way!” As he carefully pushed past them, still wobbly on his pedes, the Twins staggered over. Sideswipe was holding up his brother under the shoulder joint and grinning like a lunatic.

“Glad to see you're back Ratch!” 

Sunstreaker was still bleeding but managed a very faint smile for their medic, “I'm not dying.”

“But you are losing a lot of energon and will probably collapse into stasis soon.” Ratchet replied promptly. The medic knelt shakily as Sideswipe helped his brother to the ground and he started to pull tools out of his subspace, including an energon drip. “But it's not the worst I've seen on you two.”

A hysterical giggle burst out of Sideswipe. The rest to the Autobots kept out of Ratchet's space but clustered around in case they could help. Many sat down in utter exhaustion. Wheeljack knelt close, “Here, I can weld-”

“Let him do it.” Perceptor interrupted as Ratchet frowned at the engineer. 

Ratchet focused on the torn cables and armor. When Optimus sat down next to him, he spoke up, “I just have to close these. The rest can be done back in the medbay.”

“You didn't tell me.” The Prime replied quietly. No judgment or harsh anger lay over his words, only patience. On Ratchet's other side, Wheeljack shifted. He hadn't been told either. And considering Ratchet was his best friend, he was a little hurt that he hadn't known. 

“You couldn't have fixed it-No, don't argue.” He insisted when he saw Optimus about to do just that. His optics roved around, speaking to all of them as the Autobots waited and watched him. Ratchet stared a little longer at Wheeljack than the others, “None of you could have fixed it. Jazz knew of course, and Perceptor did because he was helping look through old texts to try and find a way to get rid of it. But it was just an unnecessary worry for the rest of you. And Optimus, you have far too much on your shoulders as it is. You didn't need to carry this as well.” 

Sighing and finials slumping, Optimus could not reply. Prowl was the first one to ask the question. “What happened?”

Welding the last major line shut on Sunstreaker, Ratchet groaned as he shifted back and sat down properly. “You all remember Tyger Pax?”

A chorus of rumbling engines, hisses and growls. No one had come out of Tyger Pax unscathed. With a timeline established, the mech continued, “I found an old friend on the battlefield, dying. And even giving him some of my energy wasn't enough.”

“Trying to save everyone will kill you Ratchet.” Perceptor chided, already knowing all of the story. 

Affronted, Ratchet planted his servos on his hips and mock-glared at the standing mech. “Haven't you insulted me enough today?”

“Not nearly.” Percy drolled tiredly. 

“Yeah? Well don't you do what you did today again!” He leaned over to weakly whack the taller mech on the leg with his welder. “For Primus' sake, I nearly killed you!”

Prowl politely hummed to draw attention back to the explanation, “What did you do Ratchet?”

The smallest of grins Perceptor had drawn out, disappeared from Ratchet's face. The mech looked away, “.......I made a deal.”

“With a demon?!” Tracks spat, a mixture of shock and horror crossing his face. Similar expressions ghosted through the rest of the Autobots.

Optics flashing, Ratchet snarled right back, “I reached out for help and it was the first entity to reach back! I had no time! It was make a deal or die, and what would you have done? To save a friend?!”

Optimus turned to speak to all of the mechs present, “May I remind you all of the many times Ratchet has saved your lives. Now, what happened, happened. We need to focus on the present and what is to be done about this.”

“Ah've been lookin' through old texts.” Jazz murmured, “Percy's been lookin' an' tryin' stuff too. Containment wards, binding-breakers and all.”

“Nothing has worked so far. But there is still much that has not been tried.” Perceptor added. 

“Ratchet?” Optimus turned back to the quiet medic. 

Picking at the energon drying on his servos, Ratchet sighed. “I'm in control as long as I'm not too distracted. Especially from things like pain or fear. Which is why I hate the pranks that startle me too much.” He turned to the Twins. They nodded seriously.

“Earlier, it was pain that got yah.” Ironhide rumbled moodily. No one had forgotten that the Decepticons had caused this madness today. 

A nod. “It used the shock I was in to take over.”

“I wonder how the Decepticons learned of it. Obviously this was planned.” Prowl stated shortly as he looked at wreckage of the surrounding city shrewdly. A few mutters started up as the mechs began to speculate. Wheeljack scooted closer and Ratchet grabbed his servo, mouthing 'I'm sorry' to which the vekna nodded and leaned over for a hug

“You need to stay off the battlefield then. It could just make another incident like this more likely.” Prowl continued. And was immediately met with a glare from Ratchet, as the medic released Wheeljack from the hug.

“And how am I supposed to fix people if they're dying in the field?!” He yelled. “I have to be out here. I'm the only medic left!-the scouts! Where are they?!” Ratchet started to stand, having remembered that he'd never made it to check on the scout group. Everyone quickly tried to make him sit down again as Arcee, Smokescreen and Cliffjumper yelled from off to the side. 

“We're fine!” Smokescreen assured him with a jaunty wave. “A little banged up but fine.”

As the medic let out a huge sigh of relief, Sideswipe moved over to toss an arm around Ratchet's shoulders, “Don't worry Doc! We'll be your bodyguards for every battle.”

“We fragged up today.” His golden twin tacked on solemnly. “We won't let that happen again.”

“I bet I could make a personal force field for you.....” Wheeljack added, pulling out a datapad to draw on and getting lost in planning immediately.

Several mechs all declared that they would help as well. Prowl raised a servo to quiet them and spoke, “We will have to restrategize battle plans so you are better defended and can still do your job.” That earned him a tired smile from the medic. 

“Can we go back to base soon?” Bumblebee piped up from where he sat with Mirage picking at a long scratch across his front. They were all injured and tired, wanting to go home. Sirens wailed in the distance. The humans would come check to see if the fighting was over sooner or later and no one had the strength to handle diplomacy at that moment. Not even Optimus. 

“Back to base everyone.” He declared firmly, standing with a creak. 

Everyone got up slowly, exhausted, injured, and bemoaning the craziness of the day. As mechs shifted to vehicle or beast mode, heading back to base with Ratchet in the middle of the group, Jazz trailed behind. Ratchet's demon and everything else may have distracted him, but he was not a blind Gatekeeper. 

The Stunticons had remained when the others Cons had fled. They had nothing to fear from a demon, being such creatures themselves. While it had rampaged and was subsequently held back once more, they had lain among the rubble off to the side and out of sight, watching. 

Dealing with Jazz was a gamble at certain death for them. But all the same, they loped forward carefully as the Autobots started to leave. 

Jazz waited, wondering what they could possibly want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I love my science boys and medics. Which is why I have to mess with them.


End file.
